i!IHIil!i|  lllilill 


"CRESTS    BY  ^7 
XTHE  RIVER  % 


GEORGE  M7ITHESON 


fr\f^ 


„-^" 


tihraxy  of  trhe  theological  ^eminarjp 

PRINCETON  •  NEW  JERSEY 


PRESENTED  BY 

The  TCptate  of  the 
Rev,  John  B.  Wiedin^er 

BV  4832^  .M3  5  1907 
Matheson,  George,  1842-1906 
Rests  by  the  river 


RESTS   BY   THE   RIVER 


BY  GEORGE  MATHESON,  D.D.,  LL.D. 

REPRESENTATIVE  MEN  OF  THE  BIBLE 
SERIES. 

In  three  volumes,  crown  octavo,  cloth. 

Each  volume  complete  in  itself. 

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Isaac,   Moses,   Samuel,   David,   Elijah,  etc. 

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eson  is  unsurpassed.  His  '  Enoch  the  Immortal,'  'Abraham 
the  Cosmopolitan,'  'Isaac  the  Domesticated,'  and  others 
in  his  gallery  of  statues,  serve  as  lay  figures  for  an  in- 
vestiture of  thought,  philosophic,  religious,  original,  of 
which  all  must  acknowledge  the  charm." — The  Outlook, 

Vol.  II.  Comprising  Ishmael,  Aaron,  Jonathan, 
Isaiah,  Jeremiah,  Daniel,  etc.  $1.75. 
"  We  doubt  whether  there  is  now  in  print  a  more  beau- 
tiful and  suggestive  series  of  biographical  studies  of  the 
familiar  heroes  of  Old  Testament  times,"— The  North- 
vjestern  Christian  Advocate, 

Vol.  III.    Representative  Men  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment.   Net,  $1.50. 

STUDIES  OF  THE  PORTRAIT  OF  CHRIST. 
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Volume  I  in  1 1th  Thousand,  Volume  II  in  6th  Thousand. 
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Dr.  Matheson  concludes  his  preface:  "A  devotional 
book  is  supposed  to  be  a  very  simple  thing.  It  ought  to 
be  the  most  difficult  composition  In  the  world,  for  it 
should  aim  at  the  marriage  of  qualities  which  are  com^ 
monly  supposed  to  be  antagonistic— the  insight  of  the 
thinker  and  the  fervor  of  the  worshipper.  My  own  con- 
viction has  Increasingly  been  that  the  hours  of  our  deep° 
est  devotion  are  precisely  in  those  moments  when  we 
catch  fresh  glimpses  of  hidden  things," 

MOMENTS  ON   THE   MOUNT.     A   Series  of 

Devotional  Meditations.     Cloth,  $1.25. 
VOICES  OF  THE  SPIRIT.     Cloth,  $1.25. 


RESTS   BY  THE   RI 


DEVOTIONAL   MEDITATION 


BY    THE    REV. 


GEORGE  MATHESON,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  F.R.S.E. 

FORMERLY    MINISTER    OF    THE    PARISH    OF    ST.     BERNARd's, 
EDINBURGH 


NEW  YORK 

A.    C.    ARMSTRONG   &   SON 

3  &  5  West  i8th  Street,  nuar  5TH  Avenue 
1907 


PREFACE 

rriHESE  meditations  appeared  originally  in 
-^  the  pages  of  Saint  Andreiv,  an  organ  of 
the  Church  of  Scotland.  They  are  intended 
for  devotional  moments ;  but  by  devotional 
moments  I  do  not  mean  moments  of  vacuity. 
It  is  not  in  its  season  of  intellectual  barrenness 
that  the  soul  yields  its  spiritual  fruit.  Religious 
sentiment,  if  it  is  worth  anything,  must  be 
preceded  by  religious  perception.  According,  I 
have  divided  each  of  these  pieces  into  two  parts 
— the  first  containing  a  thought  and  the  second 
either  an  invocation  or  a  prayer;  the  whole  piece 
mav  be  read  in  three  minutes.  This  is  the  atje 
of  brevity,  and  I  have  tried  to  put  intensity  in 
the  place  of  extension.  The  appeals  are  to 
various  moods  of  mind  ;  if  some  of  them  should 
find  their  way  into  hearts  that  have  been  un- 


vi  PREFACE 

consciously  waiting  for  their  message,  the  aim 
of  this  book  will  have  been  abundantly  achieved. 
I  find  that,  without  any  design  on  my  part, 
there  are  two  readings  per  week  for  one  year ; 
perhaps,  in  life's  storm  and  stress,  our  "  Rests 
by  the  River"  do  not  occur  more  frequently. 

G.  M. 

Edinburgh, 
1906. 


CONTENTS 
I 

PAGE 

LIGHT   BEFOBE    SHADOW  .  .  I  .1 

II 

THE    POWER   OF   FIRST   ASSOCIATIONS  .  «  4 

III 

CHRIST   THE    BEVEALER   OF    SIN  ,  »  ,7 

IV 
WHAT   MAKES   LIFE    WORTH   LIVING  ,  ,  10 

V 

THE   EMPIRE    OF   JESUS  .  •  •  .13 

VI 

THE   GROUND    OF   SURVIVAL  .  •  ,  16 

VII 

THE   BEGINNINGS   OF    SALVATION  .  •  .19 

VIII 

WORSHIP    UNDER    THE    SHADOW        .  .  ,  22 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

IX 

FAGH 

THE    GROUND   FOR   SPIRITUAL   ANXIETY  ,  .      26 

X 

THE    SILENCE   OF  GOD  .  .  •  ,  29 

XT 

DIVES   IN   THE    UNDER-WORLD  .  ,  ,  .32 

XII 

THE  NEEDS  OF  THE  SECULAR    .       ,       ,      35 

XIII 

THE    GIFT   OF    SANQUINENESS    .  ,  ,  .      SS 

xrv 

THE    PREMONITIONS   OF   DIVINE    GRACE         ,  ,  4.1 

XV 

THE  BOLDNESS  OF  PETER  AND  JOHN  .       •       .44 

XVI 

MY  KNOWLEDGE   OF   GOD    A   RECOGNITION  .  47 

XVII 
god's    STANDARD    OF   PROSPERITY  ,  ,  .50 

XVIII 

WHERE    SHALL   I    MOST    MISS    GOD?  #  ,  53 

XIX 

THE  VOICE  BEFORE  THE  DESERT     ,       .       .56 


CONTENTS  ix 

XX 

PAGE 

THE    C0NVEE8I0N    OF    THE    SEA         ,  ,  ,  59 

XXI 

THE   PROVINCE    OP    MENTAL    REST  ,  ,  .62 

XXII 

THE    LIBERATION    FROM    LEGISLATION  .  ,  65 

XXIII 

THE   PRAYER   PROMPTED    BY    HEAVEN    ,  .  .68 

XXIV 
THE    ABUSE    OF    RELIGIOUS    FAITH  .  ,  ,  71 

XXV 

ADVERSE   CIRCUMSTANCES  .  ,  ,  .75 

XXVI 

THE   FIRST    SPHERE    OP   REGENERATION       .  ,  78 

XXVII 

THE  NEED  OF  PRELIMINARY  SHELTER       ,       ,   81 

XXVIII 

THE    CHANGE    IN   RELIGIOUS    ASPIRATIONS  .  ,  84 

XXIX 

THE  KEY  TO  PRACTICAL  SERVICE     .       ,       .88 

XXX 

THE    ARREST    OF    PREMATURE    OLD-AGE        .  ,  92 


X  CONTENTS 

XXXI 

PASB 

THE    TEST   OF   OUR   HOPEFULNESS  \  ,  ,95 

XXXII 

THE    HIGHEST    VIEW   OF    GOD's    GOVERNMENT  .  98 

XXXIII 
THE    SECRET    OF   REVEREXT   RESEARCH  ,  .   101 

XXXIV 

THE   PRAYER   THAT   FOLLOWS   ITS   ANSWER  ,  104 

XXXV 

THE  SERVICE  RENDERED  BY  DEATH  .       ,       .  107 

XXXVI 

THE  HELP  OF  BEAUTY  TO  GOODNESS    ,       ,     111 

XXXVII 

THE    MERCY   OF    GOD      .  .  .  ,  ,   115 

XXXVIII 

god's  PROMISE  OF  THE  CLOUD   .       •    .   •     119 

XXXIX 

THE    SELF-INTEREST    OF    BEING    GOOD   ,  ,  .    123 

XL 

HOW   HEREDITY   AFFECTS    SALVATION  ,  •  127 

XLI 

THE    FOUNDATION    OF    THE    ALTAR  ,  ,  .    130 


CONTENTS  xi 

XLII 

PAGE 

THE   UNIQUE   ELEMENT   IN    CHKIST's   GOSPEL  .  134 

XLIII 
THE    GLORIFYING    OF    MEMORY  ,  .  .   138 

XLIV 
THE    GROUND    OP   DIVINE    COMPASSION  •  .  141 

XLV 
THE   CLIMAX   OF   RETRIBUTIVE    JUSTICE  .  .  144 

XLVI 

A  NEW  ROAD  TO  AN  OLD  MORALITY      ,       ,     147 

XL  VII 

THE   CALL   NOT   TO   GO  .  .  .  ,   151 

XLVIII 

REVELATION    IN    COMMON   LIFE  .  ,  ,  164 

XLIX 

THE   HOUR   OF   DIVINE    INERTNESS  •  •  .   157 

L 

THE   DESIGN    OP   CHRISTIAN    SACRIFICE         ,  ,  161 

LI 

THE   QUALIFICATION   CONFERRED   BY   SUFFERING  .    165 

LII 

THE   LIVES   WITHOUT   RECORD  .  ,  ,  169 


xii  CONTENTS 

LIII 

PAOB 

THE   BASIS   OF   ANSWER   TO    PRATER      .  ,  .    173 

LIV 

INDIFFERENCE  .  .  •  •  ■  177 

LV 

THE    PARADOX   OF   CHRIST* S   PERMANENCE  ,  .   180 

LVI 

THE   TRUE    BROAD-CHURCH  .  .  •  184 

LVII 

THE   PRIESTHOOD   OF   GOD  .  .  •  .   187 

LVIII 

THE   GLORY   IN    THE    GLOOM  ,  .  .  190 

LIX 

THE   MARRIAGE   OF   HEAVEN    AND    EARTH  .  .   194 


LX 

THE   ALTERNATIONS   OF   LIFE  .  •  • 


198 


LXI 

THE  UNEXPECTED  DOOR  OF  REVELATION     •       .  201 

LXII 

THE   PROOF   OF    SPIRITUAL   REST     .  •  •  205 

LXIII 

THE  SPHERE  OF  GREATEST  DANGEB  .       •       .  208 


CONTENTS  xiii 

LXIV 

PAGE 

DISENCHANTMENT  .  .  .  «  ,211 

LXV 
THE    SANCTUARY   IN    PRIVATE    LIFE         ,  «  ,  215 

LXVI 

THE  HOLY  DAY  AND  THE  HOLIDAY       •       ,     218 

LXVII 

THE    HIGHEST    EVIDENCE    OF    IMMORTALITY        .  .  222 

LXVIII 

god's   estimate    of    a    man's    RELIGION     .  •  225 

LXIX 

THE    DANGER   OF   CENSORIOUSNESS  .  •  .   228 

LXX 

THE    UNPROMISING   ENVIRONMENT  .  «  •  232 

LXXI 

NAZARETH   AND   CAPERNAUM      .  ,  i  .   235 

LXXII 
THE   MYSTICAL   AND   THE    PRACTICAIi  ,  «  239 

LXXIII 
SERVICE    IN   PROSTRATION  .  •  «  .  242 

LXXIV 

GRATITUDE    TO   OUR   FIRST    HELPERS  •  •  246 


xiv  CONTENTS 

LXXV 

PAOK 

CHRISTIAN   UNWORLDLINESS      ....   250 

LXXVI 

Christ's  charity  to  the  wavering      ,  ,         254 

LXXVII 

THE    ROAD    TO   COMPANIONSHIP  .  t  .    258 

LXXVIII 

THE    BOUNDARY-LINE    OF   CHRIST's   COMMUNION      .  262 

LXXIX 

THE    INDIRECT   EFFECTS    OF   CHRISTIANITY         .  .   266 

LXXX 

NEHEMIAH'S    cure    FOR   PHYSICAL    LANGUOB  •  270 

LXXXI 
Christ's  first  temptation  .  ,  ,  .  274 

LXXXII 
CHRISTIAN  witness-bearing        ...        278 

LXXXIII 

THE    SPHERE    OF   DIVINE    PROVIDENCE  ,  .   282 

LXXXIV 

THE    INFLUENCE    THAT   IS    IMMORTAL  ,  •  285 

LXXXV 

Christ's  first  note  of  autobiography     •  ,  289 


CONTENTS  XV 

LXXXVI 

PAOB 

THE  SECRET  OF  STOOPING       .       ,       ,     293 

LXKXVII 

man's   PREMONITION    OF    CHFvISTMAS   BELLS       ,  .   297 

LXXXVIII 

THE    QUALIFICATION    FOR    MINISTERING        ,  ,  301 

LXXXIX 

THE    ABUSE    OF   NOBLE    THINGS  ,  ,  ,    305 

XC 

THE    PRINCIPLE    OF   CHRIST's   PHILANTHROPY  ,  308 

XCI 

THE    COMFORT    OF   RELIGIOUS    DEPRESSION         ,  .    312 

XCII 

THE   ROOT   OF   CHRISTIAN    ABNEGATION         .  ,  316 

XCIII 

THE    STAGES    OF   CHRISTIAN    PERFECTION  ,  .   320 

XCIV 

WHY   GOD   VALUES   PRAISE  ,  ,  ,  324 

xcv 

THE    CHANGED    STANDARD    OF    SOCIAL   DIGNITY  ,   328 

XCVI 
THE  RELATION  OF  TEMPORAL  TO  SPIRITUAL  BLESSINGS    332 


xvi  CONTENTS 

XGVII 

FESTIVITY    UNDER    CHRISTIAN    AUSPICES       .  ,  336 

XCVIII 

THE    MINISTRATION    OP    THE    PHYSICAL    TO    FAITH  .    340 

XCIX 
THE    BONDAGE    THAT    UNBURDENS   .  .  ,  344 

c 

THE   DOOR   OF   CYRUS    .  .  ,  t  .   348 

CI 

CHRIST'S    SELECTION    FOR    THE    MOUNT         .  .  352 

CII 
THE    TEMPORARY   LOSS    INVOLVED    IN    ETERNAL    GAIN    .    356 

cm 

THE    PLACE    IN    CHRIST    FOR    REPENTANCE  ,  360 

CIV 
THE    CONTENTMENT    THAT    IS    UNSPIRITUAIi        .  .   364 


LIGHT  BEFORE   SHADOW 


"  A  new  heart  also  will  I  give  you.     Then  shall  ye  remember 
your  own  evil  ways." — Ezek.  xxxvi.  26,  31. 


WHAT  a  singularly  subtle  thought !  Only 
an  inspired  book  could  have  conceived 
it.  The  prophet  says  that  the  memory  of  our 
badness  only  comes  after  we  have  become  good. 
"  A  new  heart  will  I  give  you  ;  then  shall  ye 
remember  your  own  evil  ways."  One  would 
have  expected  the  opposite  statement.  We 
should  have  looked  for  such  words  as  these : 
"  You  must  expect  for  a  little  to  be  troubled 
with  old  memories.  You  must  not  be  sur- 
prised, when  you  are  in  the  first  stage  of 
reformation,  to  experience  the  remorse  of  con- 
science for  bad  deeds  in  the  past.  When  your 
new  nature  is  complete,  when  the  weaning 
process  is  over,  when  you  become  accustomed 
to  the  corn  of  the  land,  you  will  forget  all 
about   your   struggles    and    failures ;    you    will 

2 


2  LIGHT  BEFORE  SHADOW 

remember  your  shortcomings  no  more."  The 
prophet  says  it  is  only  then  you  tcill  remem- 
ber them.  He  says  the  valleys  of  your  life  will 
not  become  visible  until  you  have  scaled  the 
height  and  stood  upon  the  mountain's  brow. 
And  truly  he  is  right ;  experience  cries 
"  Amen ! "  The  memory  of  sin  is  the  latest 
gift  of  my  Father.  His  earliest  gifts  are  in- 
centives to  move  forward ;  they  rather  dis- 
courage a  retrospective  view^.  God  says  to 
the  beginner,  "  Forget  the  things  which  are 
behind ;  press  toward  the  mark  of  the  prize ! " 
But  when  the  mark  of  the  prize  is  Tvon,  when 
the  top  of  the  hill  is  gained,  then  for  the  first 
time  He  says,  "  Look  back ! "  Then,  for  the 
first  time,  memory  wakes,  and  our  yesterday 
appears ;  and  the  valley  of  the  past  looks 
lowly  and  the  shadows  of  the  past  seem  deep. 
We  beat  upon  our  breast  and  say,  "  O  wretched 
man  that  I  am  ! " 

Lord,  in  my  hour  of  remorseful  memory,  let 
me  remember  this !  Let  me  remember  that 
the  pain  of  my  bad  deed  is  only  felt  by  the 
new  heart.  Often  I  cry  with  the  hymnist, 
"Where  is  the  blessedness  I  knew  when  first 
I  saw  the  Lord?"  Teach  me  that  it  is  quite 
natural  there  should  be  more  blessedness 
at  first !  Help  me  to  enter  into  the  comfort 
of  the   thought   that   the   burden  of  yesterday 


LIGHT   BEFORE  SHADOW  3 

is  reserved  for  the  jpure  soul !  Reveal  to  my 
troubled  spirit  that  my  sense  of  distance  from 
Thee  grows  with  my  nearness  !  I  never  seem 
to  follow  Thee  so  far  off  as  when  I  am  within 
the  grounds  of  Thy  house  with  many  mansions. 
Let  me  measure  my  nearness  by  my  pain ! 
When  the  debts  of  yesterday  oppress  me,  when 
the  shadows  of  my  past  appal  me,  when  the 
deeds  of  my  dead  days  rise  up  for  judgment 
in  my  soul,  tell  me  that  the  vision  means,  not 
war,  but  peace  !  Tell  me  that  the  haze  upon 
my  morning  is  summer  heat,  not  winter's 
gloom !  Tell  me  it  is  the  resurrection  body 
that  makes  me  sensitive  to  pain  !  Tell  me  I 
feel  to-day  what  I  felt  not  yesterday  because 
to-day  I  have  received  a  new  heart — received 
more  power  to  feel !  I  can  bear  the  burden 
of  the  past  if  to  bear  it  means  nearness  to 
Thee. 


II 

THE    POWER    OF    FIRST   ASSOCIATIONS 

"On  the  Sabbath  we  went  out  of  the  city  by  a  river  side, 
where  prayer  was  wont  to  be  made ;  and  we  sat  down,  and 
spake  unto  the  women  which  resorted  thither." — Acts  xvi.  13. 

THE  disciples  went  to  hold  a  religious 
meeting  outside  the  town ;  they  came  to 
the  river  side.  Why?  Because  it  was  a  place 
of  solitude  ?  No ;  because  it  was  a  place  of 
prayer  in  former  days.  I  do  not  think  soli- 
tude is  favourable  to  worship  ;  I  do  not  think 
the  river  side  so  apt  to  kindle  enthusiasm  as 
the  crowded  assembly.  But,  whether  in  town 
or  country,  I  think  the  spot  of  past  associa- 
tions has  the  advantage  over  every  other  spot. 
When  we  come  to  middle  life,  the  life  of  the 
great  city,  there  are  times  when  our  main 
attraction  to  religion  is  simply  the  power  of 
past  association.  Many  a  man  whose  intellec- 
tvial  faith  is  shattered  is  bound  to  Christ  by 
the    memories     of    childhood — by     seeing    the 


POWER  OF  FIRST  ASSOCIATIONS       5 

place  "  where  prayer  was  wont  to  be  made." 
It  is  a  great  arj^unient  for  the  early  associa- 
tion of  religion  with  joy.  If  the  religion  of 
our  childhood  has  been  happy — if  the  Sabbath 
school  has  been  pleasant,  if  the  teachers  have 
been  loved — it  will  be  very  hard  to  tear  up 
these  roots  in  manhood.  When  the  clouds 
gather  round  your  matvire  reason  you  will  go 
back  to  the  place  "  where  prayer  was  wont  to 
be  made" — to  the  joyous  group  now^  separated 
and  silent  that  met  round  the  family  altar,  to 
the  village  choir  of  happy  voices,  to  the 
Christmas-tree  laden  with  gifts  for  the  Child- 
Jesus.  When  the  woodman  is  about  to  cut 
down  an  old  tree,  you  remember  that  in  youth 
it  sheltered  you,  and  you  bid  him  forbear.  So 
with  the  creed  of  the  Cross.  A  thousand 
voices  cry,  "  Cut  it  down ;  why  cumbereth  it 
the  ground ! "  But  a  still  small  voice  answers, 
"Prayer  was  wont  to  be  made  here  in  the 
long  long  ago ;  for  the  sake  of  memory  let  us 
keep  the  foliage  green  !  " 

My  brother,  plant  early  the  tree  by  the 
river  of  living  waters !  Let  the  religion  of 
your  children  be  from  the  first  linked  with 
gladness !  If  you  put  their  tree  by  the  river 
side  in  youth,  they  will  sit  by  the  river  side 
in  manhood  also.  The  tree  may  be  battered 
and  bent — struck  by  the  lightning,  ravaged  by 


6        POWER   OF  FIRST   ASSOCIATIONS 

the  storm ;  but  to  them  it  will  be  ever  green 
— green  with  the  light  of  memory.  Let  your 
children  have  a  place  of  which  in  the  days  to 
come  they  shall  say,  "  Prayer  was  wont  to  be 
made  here ! "  Plant  early  their  tree,  and  let  it 
be  a  Christmas-tree— a  joyous  tree !  Plant  it 
where  the  waters  spring ;  plant  it  where  the 
woodnotes  ring ;  plant  it  where  the  breezes 
sing !  Lay  it  among  the  flowers ;  shrine  it 
among  the  bowers ;  tend  it  in  the  golden 
hours !  Let  no  cypress  come  near  it ; 
let  no  willow  touch  it ;  let  no  thorn 
impede  its  opening  way !  Thorns  will  come 
in  the  afternoon ;  but  keep  them  from 
the  morning !  Gild  in  the  sunshine  life's 
opening  door ;  encircle  with  music  life's 
dawning  day !  There  will  be  clouds  by  and 
by,  there  will  be  discords  by  and  by  ;  but, 
when  the  clouds  and  discords  meet  your 
children  on  the  river  side,  they  will  remember 
the  old  tree  where  prayer  was  wont  to  be  made. 


Ill 

CHRIST   THE   REVEALER   OF   SIN 

"  Thou  hast  set  our  secret  sins  in  the  light  of  Thy  counte- 
nance."— PSA.  xc.  8. 

THE  secret  sins  here  spoken  of  are  sins  secret 
from  myseK.  They  may  be  quite  visible 
to  others.  It  is  a  very  difficult  thing  to  "see 
ourselves  as  others  see  us."  One  would 
think  it  would  be  otherwise.  We  often  say 
of  a  man,  "  He  knows  best  his  own  mind." 
But  that  is  not  true  of  any  man.  A  man 
knows  everything  better  than  himself.  I 
travel  over  the  whole  world  before  I  reach 
my  own  home.  I  gaze  on  every  fire  before 
I  stand  by  my  own  fireside.  I  look  at  the 
lights  of  Nature ;  they  reveal  much,  but  they 
do  not  reveal  me.  I  survey  the  lights  of  his- 
tory ;  they  mirror  my  own  soul,  but  I  do  not 
recognise  myself.  I  study  the  lights  of  society ; 
I  see  a  picture  of  my  own  sins,  but  I  say,  "  What 
bad  people  these  are  ;   I  am  glad  I  am  not  like 


8  CHRIST  THE  REVEALER  OF  SIN 

them  ! "  We  often  breathe  the  prayer,  "  O  send 
forth  Thy  light  and  Thy  truth!"  But  I  do 
not  think  we  know  the  light  we  most  need. 
We  imagine  that  our  greatest  obscurity  is  the 
curtain  hanging  over  our  future.  No ;  it  is  the 
curtain  hanging  over  our  present.  It  is  not 
the  throne  of  God's  judgment  that  wants  un- 
veiling ;  it  is  the  throne  of  our  judgment — the 
sight  of  our  own  sin.  No  man  can  see  his  sin 
by  looking  at  it ;  he  can  only  see  it  by  looking 
away  from  it.  Only  by  the  vision  of  purity 
can  I  learn  my  impurity.  I  never  find  that 
I  am  in  rags  until  my  Father  brings  forth  the 
best  robe.  I  never  know  that  I  am  in  discord 
until  my  Father's  house  reveals  its  music. 
I  never  realise  that  I  am  hungry  until  my 
Father  says,  "  Let  us  eat  and  drink  and  be 
merry ! "  I  never  am  conscious  that  I  am  a 
prodigal  until  the  voice  of  my  Father  cries, 
"  This  my  son  was  dead  and  is  alive  again,  was 
lost  and  is  found  ! " 

Therefore,  O  Son  of  Man,  I  first  need  Thee. 
Only  in  Thy  rest  shall  I  learn  what  it  is  to  be 
weary  and  heavy-laden.  Do  not  let  me  think 
that  I  must  feel  my  sin  before  I  come  to  Thee  ! 
Do  not  let  me  wait  till  I  can  be  conscious  of 
my  poverty !  Let  my  first  consciousness  be 
of  Thee !  In  the  light  of  Thy  countenance 
alone,  shall   I  see  my  sin.     How  shall   I   learn 


CHRIST   THE   REVEALER   OF   SIN  9 

my  rags  except  by  Thy  radiance !  There  is 
no  storm  heard  upon  my  sea  until  Thy  foot- 
steps touch  the  wave.  There  are  those  who 
say  I  must  feel  myself  to  be  fallen.  Yes,  but 
I  cannot  feel  my  fall  until  Thou  hast  lifted 
me.  I  saw  a  child  trip  one  day  and  come  to 
the  ground.  It  never  nieaut  to  cry  ;  but  some- 
body lifted  it,  and  there  followed  a  great  shower 
of  self-pity.  So  is  it  with  my  sc  ul.  It  is  when 
Thou  raisest  me  that  I  feel  my  pain.  It  is  when 
Thou  warmest  me  that  I  feel  my  cold.  It  is 
w^hen  Thou  greetest  me  that  I  feel  my  solitude. 
It  is  beside  Thy  waters  that  I  thirst.  It  is  in 
sight  of  Thy  manna  that  I  hunger.  It  is  before 
Thy  beauty  that  I  tremble.  It  is  in  front  of 
Thy  smile  that  I  weep.  It  is  in  view  of  Thy 
love  that  I  loathe  myself.  It  is  Thy  pardon 
that  pierces  me  ;  it  is  Thy  Cross  that  crucifies 
me ;  it  is  Thy  redemption  that  rends  me ;  it 
is  Thy  mercy  that  makes  me  remorseful.  My 
penitence  shall  be  the  gift  from  Thy  forgive- 
ness ;  I  shall  learn  my  sins  in  the  light  of  Thy 
countenance. 


IV 
WHAT  MAKES  LIFE   WORTH  LIVING 

"  The  kingdom  of  heaven  is  like  unto  treasure  hid  in  a 
field,  the  which  when  a  man  hath  found,  he  hideth,  and  goeth 
and  seUeth  all  that  he  hath,  and  buyeth  that  field." — 
Matt.  xiii.  44. 

WHY  did  the  man  buy  that  field?  Every 
spectator  of  the  transaction  would 
have  given  a  wrong  reason.  Some  would  have 
said,  "  He  has  bought  it  for  its  great  extent  of 
ground."  Some  would  say,  "  He  has  purchased 
it  for  its  abundance  of  trees  and  fruits.'  Some 
would  exclaim,  "  He  "wants  a  large  pasturage 
for  his  cattle."  Some  would  cry,  "  He  evidently 
designs  to  build  houses."  And  yet  not  one  of 
these  surmises  would  have  been  near  the  mark. 
The  man  bought  the  field  for  the  sake  of  some- 
thing which  was  quite  invisible  —  something 
which  was  hid.  I  believe  this  is  the  universal 
practice.  I  think  we  all  buy  the  world's  field, 
not  for  the  sake  of  that  field,  but  for  the  sake 
of   a   little  unseen  thing  which  happens  to  lie 

10 


WHAT  MAKES  LIFE  WORTH  LIVING     11 

within  it.  That  unseen  thing  is  lov^e  ;  that  is 
the  treasure  hid  in  the  world's  field  !  Have  you 
considered  how  much  the  field  is  indebted  to 
that  hidden  treasure  ?  We  speak  of  the  striving 
for  wealth,  the  thirst  for  fame,  the  lust  for 
power,  the  bid  for  recognition.  But  you  will 
find  that  those  who  seek  these  things  seek  them 
for  the  sake  of  love.  Nobody  would  care  for  his 
field  of  labour  if  he  did  not  associate  it  with 
some  one  hidden  in  his  heart.  Why  is  that 
friend  of  yours  so  eager  in  exchange  and  mar- 
ket-place ?  It  is  because  he  hears  in  fancy  the 
prattle  of  his  children's  voices,  and  sees  in 
imagination  the  warm  household  fire.  Why  is 
he  beating  for  entrance  at  the  doors  of  society  ? 
It  is  because  it  will  gladden  the  Ufe  of  her  who 
wears  his  nuptial  ring.  Why  is  he  seeking  the 
plaudits  of  the  multitude  ?  It  is  in  the  hope 
that  a  certain  one  will  hear  them — only  one — 
the  one  hid  in  his  heart.  Love,  or  the  hope  of 
love,  is  the  wellspring  of  all  labour ;  I  buy  the 
field  for  the  sake  of  its  invisible  treasure. 

And  so,  my  Christ,  I  buy  this  world  for  the 
sake  of  Thee !  I  do  not  think  this  world  is 
worth  the  price  without  Thee  ;  it  is  too  dear 
a  purchase.  It  is  the  love  of  Thee  that  gives 
value  to  my  field.  I  have  heard  men  say,  "A 
Christian  cannot  love  the  world "  ;  but  I  say, 
*'  A   Christian  has  alone  the  right  to  love  the 


12     WHAT  MAKES  LIFE    WORTH  LIVING 

world " ;  it  is  worth  loving  in  Thee !  I  have 
become  eager  for  the  T7orld  through  the  love 
of  Thee.  I  should  like  to  be  rich  for  Thee ; 
I  would  have  diamonds  from  the  mine  and 
pearls  from  the  ocean — to  give  Thy  hungry 
bread.  I  should  like  to  be  famous  for  Thee ;  I 
would  be  a  leader  of  all  fashions  if  I  could  lead 
Thy  wanderers  home.  I  should  like  to  be  gifted 
for  Thee  ;  I  should  covet  being  a  great  novelist 
if  I  could  paint  Thine  image  in  a  human  soul.  I 
should  like  to  be  joyous  for  Thee  ;  it  is  when  my 
heart  is  gladdest  that  I  minister  most  to  Thy 
sons  of  sorrow^.     Thou  art  my  field  of  enterprise, 

0  Christ !  I  would  sing  for  Thy  sad ;  I  would 
work  for  Thy  weary ;  I  would  husband  for  Thy 
homeless  ;  I  would  overflow  for  Thine  orphans ; 

1  would  prosper  for  Thy  poor  ;  I  would  be 
crowned  with  glory  and  honour  for  the  com- 
forting of  Thy  brother's  pain.  Thou  hast  made 
it  worth  while  for  me  to  buy  this  field. 


THE  EMPIRE  OF  JESUS 

"  The  men  marvelled,  saying,  "What  manner  of  man  is  this, 
that  even  the  winds  and  the  sea  obey  Him  I  " — Matt.  viii.  27. 

THE  marvellous  thing  about  Christ's  in- 
fluence is  the  nature  of  the  things  which 
He  influenced.  The  winds  and  the  sea — these 
are  the  wayward  forces,  the  types  of  variable- 
ness, the  elements  which  cannot  be  counted  on. 
If  one  can  rule  these  he  must  have  the  root 
of  empire  in  him.  Our  marvel  at  the  sway 
of  Jesus  is  the  same  marvel  as  that  of  the  men 
on  the  Lake  of  Galilee — that  "  the  winds  and 
the  sea "  should  obey  Him.  It  is  not  the  num- 
ber of  His  followers  that  startles  us.  Buddha 
had  more  followers  ;  Mohammed  had  more 
follow^ers.  It  is  the  quality  of  the  followers 
of  Jesus  that  wakes  our  wonder.  They  are 
drawn  from  "  the  winds  and  the  sea  " — from  the 
sphere  of  wayward  forces.  Both  Buddha  and 
Mohammed   dwelt  in   a   stagnant    atmosphere. 

13 


14  THE  EMPIRE   OF  JESUS 

They  stood,  not  by  the  brink  of  the  sea,  but 
by  the  side  of  a  dead  pool.  They  heard  no 
sound  of  waves,  they  listened  to  no  murmur 
of  the  storm  ;  theirs  was  a  rod  of  empire  over 
minds  only  half  awake.  But  the  mission  of 
Jesus  was  a  mission  by  the  sea.  His  was  a 
message  delivered  in  front  of  the  winds.  He 
spoke  to  minds  which  were  already  on  the 
wing — instinct  with  new  life  and  separate  life. 
Europe  had  come  over  into  Asia,  and  the  pulse 
of  Asia  had  been  quickened.  Men  had  ceased 
to  be  uniform ;  they  had  begun  to  think  inde- 
pendently. Opposite  tastes  had  risen  ;  opposing 
schools  were  rising.  And  yet  this  complex 
^vorld  agreed  on  Jesus.  He  took  representa- 
tives from  every  school.  He  conquered  men 
amid  their  varieties.  He  did  not  first  ask  them 
to  give  up  their  varieties.  He  took  them  into 
the  ark  as  they  were — of  every  kind.  He  did 
not  ask  them  to  be  of  one  nature.  He  let  them 
keep  their  separate  tastes,  their  different  likings. 
He  allowed  the  winds  to  blow  as  before,  the  sea 
to  wave  as  before.  He  required  but  one  article 
of  agreement — obedience  to  Himself.  No  won- 
der the  men  of  Galilee  marvelled  ! 

O  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  Thine  has  been  the 
empire  of  the  West — an  empire  over  the  winds 
and  the  sea  !  Other  masters  have  ruled  the 
Eastern   mind ;  they  ha\e   wielded   the   sceptre 


THE   EMPIRE   OF   JESUS  15 

over  sleeping  souls  and  passionless  hearts.  But 
Thou  hast  reigned  where  passion  reigns.  Thy 
flag  has  waved  amid  the  tempests  of  the  spirit. 
Thou  hast  been  most  adored  just  where  the 
pulses  of  life  beat  strongest.  Thine  is  not  the 
sway  over  a  bruised  and  broken  humanity. 
Thine  is  not  the  dominion  over  a  valley  and 
shadow  of  death.  Thy  kingdom  has  not  only 
the  power  but  the  glory.  Thy  subjects  are 
free  souls,  living  hearts.  Thou  art  king,  not 
where  Buddha  is  king — amid  the  tombstones, 
not  where  Mohammed  is  king — amid  the  grave- 
clothes,  but  where  the  streams  flow,  where  the 
rivers  run,  where  the  torrents  sweep,  where  the 
breezes  dance  and  play.  Thy  people  are  vnlling 
in  the  day  of  Thy  power;  the  winds  and  the 
sea  obey  Thee. 


VI 

THE   GROUND   OF  SURVIVAL 

"  I  will  make  the  place  of  my  feet  glorious." — Isa.  Ix.  13. 

THERE  are  some  places  which  have  only 
been  made  glorious  by  the  feet  that 
have  trodden  them.  There  are  villages  so 
obscure  that  in  themselves  they  would  never 
be  heard  of ;  but  they  have  been  the  birthplace 
of  genius,  and  in  that  light  they  glow.  There 
are  barren  swamps  that  on  their  own  account 
would  never  attract  the  eye ;  but  they  have 
been  the  scene  of  great  battles,  and  they  are 
thronged  from  all  lands.  Judea  is  indebted 
for  her  glory  to  the  fact  that  religion  once 
dwelt  there.  Nothing  else  has  made  her 
glorious.  Measured  by  herself,  she  would  be 
despised  and  rejected  of  men.  When  we  see 
her,  there  is  no  natural  beauty  which  we 
desire  in  her.  She  is  below  the  Indian  in 
philosophy,  beneath  the  Egyptian  in  archi- 
tecture,   inferior     to    the     Greek     in    culture, 

16 


THE   GROUND   OF   SURVIVAL  17 

eclipsed  by  the  Roman  in  power,  dwarfed  by 
the  Assyrian  in  magnificence.  She  has  no- 
thing on  the  secular  side  which  she  could  live 
by,  nothing  by  which  her  memory  could  have 
survived  half  an  hour.  How  then  has  she 
been  the  most  immortal  of  nations,  the  only 
nation  that  has  outlived  its  environment?  It 
is  because  she  has  been  "the  place  of  God's 
feet."  She  had  no  possession  except  for  God. 
Her  poetry  was  psalmody,  her  songs  were 
hymns,  her  bards  were  prophets.  When  she 
built  houses  it  was  for  God — either  a  tower 
for  reaching  heaven  or  a  shrine  for  hallowing 
earth.  When  she  made  laws  it  was  for  God 
—laws  for  His  honour,  laws  for  His  service. 
When  she  practised  music  it  was  for  God — 
efforts  to  praise  Him  on  an  instrument  of  ten 
strings.  When  she  crowned  kings  it  was  for 
God — the  anointing  of  a  priest  to  serve  Him 
outside  the  sanctuary.  This  nation  was  em- 
phatically what  the  poet  declares  the  earth  to 
be  collectively — "  bound  with  gold  chains  about 
the  feet  of  God." 

Therefore,  my  soul,  has  she  survived.  Dost 
thou  marvel  at  her  survival?  Seems  it  to 
thee  the  survival  of  the  unfittest?  Learn  then 
the  parable,  for  it  is  meant  for  thee  !  If  thou 
art  fit  for  life  eternal  thou  art  fit  for  life 
temporal.      The   man    fittest  to   keep   alive  on 

3 


18         THE  GROUND  OF  SURVIVAL 

earth  is  the  man  saturated  Avith  the  thought 
of  heaven.  The  "  place  of  God's  feet "  is  the 
place  where  the  step  has  been  elastic,  springy. 
Where  thou  treadest  lightly  time  treads  lightly 
too.  If  God  be  in  thy  heart,  thy  heart  will 
keep  young.  If  thy  heart  be  young,  thou 
shalt  never  be  unfit  to  live.  All  the  disadvan- 
tages of  Judea  may  be  thine.  Thine  may  be 
outward  weakness,  social  isolation,  intellectual 
limits,  ignorance  of  the  world,  bad  fortune, 
the  storm  and  stress  of  wandering  in  desert 
places.  But  if  through  these  places  thy  step 
is  the  step  of  God,  if  through  these  places 
thou  walkest  by  the  will  of  God,  if  through 
these  places  thou  leapest  by  the  love  of  God, 
the  light  heart  will  keep  thee  young.  Be  it 
ever  so  rough,  be  it  ever  so  steep,  be  it  ever 
so  miry,  the  place  of  His  feet  is  glorious. 
Take  God  on  thy  route,  and  thou  shalt  banish 
wrinkles  from  thy  brow.  Gethsemane  itself 
shall  not  age  thee  if  thou  tread  by  the  side 
of  Jesus  ;  for  it  is  not  the  place  of  thy  travel 
that  makes  thee  weary — it  is  the  heaviness  of 
thy  step. 


vn 

THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  SALVATION 

"  How  beautiful  upon  the  mountains  are  the  feet  of  Him 
that  bringeth  good  tidings  1" — Isa.  lii.  7. 

CHRIST  in  the  soul  descends  from  the 
mountain  to  the  valley.  Divine  know- 
ledge follows  the  opposite  course  to  human 
knowledge.  Human  knowledge  rises  from 
earth  to  heaven;  the  boy  learns  geography 
before  he  studies  astronomy.  But  Divine 
knowledge  descends  from  heaven  to  earth. 
Its  first  influence  is  exerted  on  the  high 
places — the  places  nearest  the  sky.  The  feet 
of  Christ  are  first  seen  on  the  mountains. 
The  beginning  of  the  Divine  life  is  high  aspi- 
ration. We  often  look  in  a  wrong  direction 
for  the  evidence  of  its  footprints.  We  see  a 
man  on  some  occasion  transgress  the  law  of 
temperance  ;  we  say,  "It  is  clear  he  is  getting 
no  good  from  religious  services."  It  is  not 
clear    at   all.      The    feet   of     the     Divine    life 

19 


20    THE   BEGINNINGS    OF  SALVATION 

begin  on  the  mountains,  and  they  may  take 
some  time  to  reach  the  plains.  You  have  seen 
the  tops  of  the  hills  aflame  with  morning 
gold  while  the  plain  and  the  valley  were  in 
shadow.  Even  so  is  it  with  the  life  of  the 
soul.  If  you  want  to  know  a  man's  spiritual 
prospects,  it  is  to  the  hills  you  must  lift  up 
your  eyes.  You  must  judge  his  morning  hours 
not  by  what  he  does  but  by  what  he  thinks. 
You  must  measure  him  by  his  aspirations. 
You  must  seek  the  feet  of  the  coming  Lord, 
not  in  the  man's  deeds,  but  in  his  desires  to 
do.  That  is  why  at  the  beginning  we  are  said 
to  be  justified,  not  by  works,  but  by  faith. 
It  is  a  great  kindness  in  our  Father  to  make 
the  test  of  us,  not  what  we  do,  but  what  we 
dream  of.  In  the  absence  of  our  good  actions 
our  Father  will  impute  to  us  our  good  dreams. 
He  will  accept  Christ's  footprints  while  as 
yet  they  are  only  on  the  mountains. 

And  that  is  my  comfort,  O  my  Father.  My 
deeds  are  far  behind.  Neither  on  the  plain 
nor  in  the  valley  do  I  yet  reveal  Thy  foot- 
prints. But  the  mountains  are  already  in  a 
glow.  I  have  dreams  of  Thy  Christ,  aspirings 
after  His  beauty,  longings  for  His  love.  Though 
not  yet  do  I  follow  Him,  He  stands  upon  my 
highest  hill.  He  is  the  climax  of  my  hopes, 
the    acme    of    my    wishes,   the   height   of    my 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  SALVATION     21 

ambitions,  the  ideal  of  what  I  should  like  to 
be.  On  the  mountain  of  my  heart  His  feet 
are  already  beautiful.  Keep  Thine  eye  upon 
the  mountain,  O  my  Father!  Behold  my 
dreams  of  Him,  my  dreams  of  Thee  !  Look  not 
yet  on  my  plain  !  Gaze  not  yet  on  my  valley  ! 
Expect  not  yet  the  footprints  of  Thy  Christ 
on  the  beaten  path !  My  walk  is  still  imper- 
fect, but  I  have  learned  to  soar.  Judge  me 
by  my  soaring !  Receive  me  by  the  rising  of 
my  wing !  Accept  my  cry  for  Thy  Christ ! 
Open  Thy  gates  to  my  dreams  of  Thee!  Unbar 
Thy  heavens  to  the  mere  sigh  of  my  spirit  ! 
Meet  me  on  the  mountain — on  the  places  paved 
as  yet  only  with  my  good  intentions  !  Come 
to  me  with  the  ring  and  the  robe  and  the 
welcome  while  for  Thee  I  have  only  the 
resolve,  "  I  wiU  arise  and  go  to  my  Father " ! 
Behold  in  that  desire  the  feet  of  Thy  Christ 
upon  the  hill  I 


vm 

WORSHIP  UNDER  THE  SHADOW 

"  When  the  Sabbath  was  past,  Mary  Magdalene,  and  Mary 
the  mother  of  James,  and  Salome,  had  bought  sweet  spices, 
that  they  might  come  and  anoint  Him." — Mabk  rvi.  1. 

I  HAVE  always  felt  that  these  women  who 
stood  at  the  sepulchre  on  Easter  morning' 
had  reached  the  very  climax  of  Christian  love. 
Most  people  will  mistake  the  reason  why  I 
think  so.  The  common  impression  will  be  that 
the  wonderful  thing  about  them  was  their  faith 
that  Christ  would  rise  again.  To  me  the 
wonderful  thing  is  the  fact  that  their  love 
survived  the  eclipse  of  that  faith.  It  is  clear  to 
my  mind  that  they  did  not  expect  Christ  to  rise 
again.  They  had  not  been  amongst  the  circle 
of  disciples  to  whom  He  had  promised  His 
rising.  But  what  proves  conclusively  that  they 
had  no  hope  of  His  resurrection  is  the  fact  that 
they  brought  the  spices.  Would  any  one  bring 
spices  to   anoint  a  body  which  he  knew  would 


WORSHIP   UNDER   THE   SHADOW      23 

rise  again !  Let  us  not  mistake  the  significance 
of  the  act  of  these  women.  It  was  a  deed  of 
che  deepest  devotion ;  but  why  ?  Because  it 
was  a  deed  of  devotion  paid  to  a  Christ  whom 
they  believed  to  be  dead.  They  wanted  the 
stone  rolled  from  the  sepulchre ;  but  why  ? 
Not  because  they  hoped  to  see  Jesus  come  forth, 
but  because  they  wished  to  anoint  His  body 
in  the  grave.  They  dreamed  not  of  a  Resur- 
rection Angel ;  they  dreamed  not  of  a  vacant 
sepulchre  ;  they  dreamed  not  of  a  risen  Christ 
— they  brought,  not  garlands,  but  spices.  Yet 
to  them  even  the  dead  Christ  was  supreme ! 
The  dead  Christ  was  more  than  all  the  living 
world  !  They  thought  Jesus  to  be  in  the  grave  ; 
but  their  heart  was  in  the  grave  with  Jesus. 
They  deemed  that  death  held  Him  ;  but  it  held 
for  them  all  that  was  dear.  Their  hopes  of  a 
coming  kingdom  were  levelled  with  the  dust ; 
but  the  dust  itself  had  become  the  treasury  of 
that  which  to  them  was  the  fairest,  the  holiest, 
the  most  precious,  memory  that  ever  gladdened 
or  saddened  a  human  soul ! 

My  brother,  there  are  hours  in  your  life  in 
which  faith  is  eclipsed.  There  come  moments  to 
you  in  which  Christ  is  buried  in  the  grave  and 
you  see  not  beyond  the  sepulchre.  Men  say  at 
such  times  that  you  have  parted  with  Christ. 
It  need  not  be  so.     You  have  lost  the  garlands, 


24   WORSHIP  UNDER  THE  SHADOW 

but  you  ought  to  have  the  spices  still.  Men 
call  you  an  agnostic,  you  call  yourself  an 
agnostic  ;  but  if  you  have  ceased  to  know,  why 
should  you  cease  to  feel?  To  you,  as  to  the 
first  disciples,  there  has  dawned  the  intermediate 
day  between  Calvary  and  Olivet ;  Christ  is  dead, 
and  the  Angel  of  the  Resurrection  is  not  yet 
come.  It  is  a  dark  day — the  darkest  I  know 
in  the  sky  of  a  human  soul.  What  then ! — will 
you  cease  to  call  yourself  a  Christian  !  Did  the 
two  Marys  cease  to  call  themselves  Christians ! 
They,  too,  were  in  that  intermediate  day ;  they, 
too,  were  wandering  between  Calvary  and 
Olivet.  The  world  would  have  said  of  them, 
"  They  have  made  shipwreck ;  they  have  lost 
everything ! "  Had  they  ?  No,  they  had  one 
thing  left — the  spices ;  they  could  at  least 
anoint  the  dead.  You,  too,  my  benighted 
brother,  can  retain  this  star ;  you  can  anoint 
the  dead.  Bring  your  spices  to  the  sepulchre 
of  Jesus  !  Is  He  not  worthy  of  being  anointed 
even  for  His  burial !  Your  faith  may  have 
wavered ;  but  will  you  let  love  die  !  Prophets 
may  have  failed,  tongues  may  have  ceased, 
knowledge  may  have  vanished  away ;  but  will 
you  let  love  die?  The  roses  are  withered,  but 
the  spices  are  still  there.  The  box  is  broken, 
but  the  fragrance  is  still  there.  You  believe 
your    Christ    to    be    a    memoiy.     Glorify   that 


WORSHIP  UNDER  THE  SHADOW   25 

memory !  Crown  Himi  in  death  !  Wreath  Him 
in  the  sepulchre  !  Worship  Him  in  His  night ! 
Adore  Him  in  His  tattered  robes  !  Recognise 
Him  in  His  mean  disguise !  Bow  to  Him  in 
His  valley  of  humiliation !  So  shall  your  love 
be  fragrant  when  your  faith  is  broken ;  bring 
your  spices  to  the  grave  of  Jesus ! 


IX 

THE  GROUND  FOR   SPIRITUAL  ANXIETY 

'•  Shall  not  the  day  of  the  Lord  be  darkness,  and  not  light  ?  " 
— Amos  v.  20. 

THE  prophet  is  speaking  to  men  who  have  a 
good  religious  creed  but  are  living  a  bad  life. 
They  are  committing  every  vice  under  the  sun 
and  praying  for  the  day  of  the  Lord.  Amos  says 
they  are  praying  against  themselves — asking 
something  which,  to  them,  would  be  darkness 
and  not  light.  He  does  not  mean  that  when  the 
day  of  the  Lord  comes  the  wicked  will  be  pre- 
vented from  seeing  it.  His  words  imply  the 
contrary.  He  says  distinctly  that  if  the  day  of 
the  Lord  came  to-morrow  it  would  embrace 
under  its  dome  the  bad  as  well  as  the  good. 
But  he  says  that  to  the  bad  and  to  the  good 
it  would  have  a  different  appearance.  Both 
would  look  on  the  same  thing,  but  they  would 
have  a  contrary  perception ;  what  was  light 
to  the  good  would  be  darkness  to  the  bad.     We 


GROUND  FOR   SPIRITUAL  ANXIETY    27 

all  feel  this  to  be  true.  To  a  selfish  man  there 
would  be  no  place  in  the  universe  so  miserable 
as  heaven.  What  makes  heaven  day  to  Jesus 
would  make  it  night  to  Judas — the  reign  of  love. 
I  have  been  often  struck  with  the  question  Hosea 
puts  to  selfish  people,  "  What  shall  ye  do  in  the 
day  of  the  feast  of  the  Lord  ?  "  He  does  not  say 
they  will  get  no  place  at  the  table  ;  he  asks  what 
interest  they  will  have  in  the  proceedings  when 
they  sit  down.  How  will  they  appreciate  a 
banquet  where  every  sentiment  proposed  will  be 
commemorative  of  sacrifice,  and  every  plaudit 
raised  will  be  a  tribute  to  the  Lamb  that  was 
slain  !  It  is  not  enough  to  be  free  from  so-called 
adverse  circumstances.  The  deepest  adversity  is 
solitude  of  soul — the  want  of  harmony  with 
one's  environment.  It  is  not  enough  that  I  am 
untouched  by  the  lightning ;  I  must  be  touched 
by  the  sunbeam.  I  would  rather  be  struck  by 
lightning  than  struck  by  nothing,  for  the  soul  is 
dead  that  slumbers,  and  the  chords  that  never 
vibrate  are  the  saddest  chords  of  all. 

My  Father,  prepare  me  for  the  place  of  Thy 
rest!  I  often  speak  as  if  the  question  were 
whether  Thou  wilt  let  me  in.  O  no,  that  is  not, 
that  never  was,  the  question !  Thou  hast  never 
separated  the  good  and  the  bad  by  locality.  I 
doubt  not  that  the  wise  and  foolish  virgins 
entered  by  the  same  outward  gate ;  the  door  that 


28    GROUND  FOR  SPIRITUAL  ANXIETY 

was  shut  upon  the  foohsh  was  an  inward  door. 
Hast  Thou  not  told  me  that  the  man  without  the 
wedding  garment  got  in  with  the  white-robed 
multitude  !  It  was  after  his  entrance  that  he  felt 
his  want.  I  have  no  fear  that  I  shall  ever  be 
driven  from  Thy  presence ;  but  I  wish  to  enjoy- 
that  presence,  to  bask  in  it,  to  sing  in  it.  I  fear 
to  stand  by  the  crystal  river  and  have  no  eye  for 
its  clearness.  I  dread  to  walk  in  the  green 
pastures  and  have  no  sense  of  their  richness.  I 
am  afraid  to  be  at  the  concert  of  multitudinous 
voices  and  have  no  ear  for  their  sweetness.  I 
tremble  to  be  enrolled  in  the  league  of  pity  and 
have  no  heart  for  its  kindness.  I  dread  not  the 
thunder  nor  the  earthquake  nor  the  fire  ;  I  dread 
the  circumstances  of  the  blessed  without  their 
spirit  of  blessedness — the  harp  without  the  heart, 
the  wing  without  the  wish,  the  song  without  the 
soul,  the  labour  without  the  love.  Save  me,  O 
Father,  from  an  uncongenial  heaven  I 


THE   SILENCE  OF  GOD 

"  Occupy  till  I  come." — Luke  xix.  13. 

THIS  is  a  very  difficult  thing  to  do.  It  is  easy 
to  be  occupied  with  the  things  of  time  when 
we  have  a  sense  of  their  durableness,  when  we 
can  say,  "  Soul,  thou  hast  much  goods  laid  up  for 
many  days."  But  to  be  occupied  w^ith  the  things 
of  time  when  you  have  a  sense  of  their  perish- 
ableness,  to  be  occupied  with  them  when  you 
hear  a  voice,  "  This  night  shall  thy  soul  be 
required  of  thee" — that  is  an  arduous  task.  I 
heard  lately  of  a  man  who  prophesied  that  the 
end  of  the  world  would  come  in'  twelve  years, 
and  who,  at  the  very  moment  when  he  uttered 
the  prediction,  took  the  lease  of  his  house  for  a 
hundred.  How  shall  we  explain  this  attitude 
towards  both  worlds?  We  can  only  explain  it 
by  the  supposition  that  he  felt  the  bird  in  the 
hand  more  sure  than  the  bird  in  the  bush.  And, 
however   startling   it    may    sound,   that  is   the 


30  THE  SILENCE  OF  GOD 

meaning  of  this  passage.  Look  at  the  context. 
The  disciples  think  the  kingdom  is  coming  at 
once.  Jesus  tells  them  the  parable  of  a  noble- 
man who  said  to  his  servants,  "  Occupy  till 
I  come,"  and  then  departed  into  a  far 
country.  Why  into  "  a  far  country  "  ?  Simply 
to  create  uncertainty.  If  the  nobleman  had 
merely  gone  a  short  distance,  the  sense  of 
his  near  presence  would  have  expelled  every 
other  presence.  What  Christ  says  in  effect  is 
this :  "  You  want  to  see  the  kingdom  near.  If  I 
granted  your  wish,  you  would  have  no  'occu- 
pation '  here ;  time  would  be  dwarfed  by  the 
vision  of  eternity.  If  you  are  to  occupy  till  I 
come,  it  is  essential  that  My  coming  should  be 
but  dimly  seen.  You  would  have  no  spirit  to 
make  a  business  contract  if  you  thought  it  would 
be  annulled  by  the  Second  Advent.  Therefore  I 
will  make  the  Second  Advent  not  very  visible  to 
you.  I  will  keep  it  in  the  mist,  I  will  wrap  it  in 
the  shadows ;  for  the  wheels  of  life  must  go  on, 
and  the  time  which  elapses  till  My  coming  must 
be  occupied  in  work  for  man." 

Say  not  then,  my  soul,  "Where  is  the  promise 
of  His  coming  ?  "  If  the  wheels  of  life  are  to  go 
on,  the  wheels  of  His  chariot  must  come  silently. 
Has  He  not  bidden  us  break  the  bread  till  He 
come !  There  would  be  little  incentive  for  thee 
to  break  the  bread  if  the  wheels  of  the  chariot 


THE   SILENCE   OF   GOD  31 

were  audible.  What  need  to  gather  stores  for 
the  hungry  if  the  manna  from  heaven  were  seen 
falling  !  It  is  not  the  will  of  thy  Father  that  in 
beholding  human  poverty  thou  shouldst  say,  "  The 
Lord  will  provide."  It  is  thou  that  are  to  pro- 
vide ;  it  is  thy  hand  that  is  to  break  bread  for  thy 
brother !  Therefore  thy  Lord  hides  His  coming. 
He  covers  the  sheen  with  His  cloud  that  thou 
mayst  not  see  it ;  He  drives  His  chariot  over  soft 
places  that  thou  mayst  not  hear  it.  O  blessed 
blindness,  O  divine  deafness  !  It  is  by  these,  my 
soul,  thy  life  on  earth  is  maintained  ;  it  is  by 
these  thy  human  bread  is  broken.  Thank  thy 
Father  for  the  silence ;  thank  thy  Christ  for  the 
distance  of  the  far-off  land  !  It  is  the  reticence 
of  heaven  that  helps  thee  to  occupy  the  earth. 


XI 

DIVES  IN  THE  UNDER-WORLD 

"  Son,  remember." — Lukk  xvi.  25. 

THE  words  are  put  into  the  mouth  of 
Abraham ;  but  Abraham  is  here  the 
representative  of  God  ;  God  is  the  real  speaker. 
They  are  supposed  to  be  spoken  to  a  human 
soul  in  the  scene  of  punishment.  In  this 
connection,  many  have  been  struck  with  the 
word  "  remember  "  ;  it  suggests  the  continuity 
of  memory  in  a  future  life.  But  to  me  the 
powerful  expression  is  the  more  neglected  one 
— the  little  word  "  son."  That  a  man  in  a 
state  of  retribution  should  experience  the 
burden  of  memory  is  not  wonderful ;  retribution 
deTuands  memory.  But  that  a  man  in  the 
scene  of  retribution  should  still  be  addressed 
as  a  son  of  God — that  is  a  startling  thing.  It 
is  as  beautiful  as  it  is  startling ;  it  is  as  true 
as  it  is  beautiful.  Wherever  you  and  I  may 
pass  at  death,  we  shall  never  pass  out  of  the 

32 


DIVES   IN  THE   UNDER-WORLD        33 

Divine  fatherhood  nor  out  of  the  Divine  pity. 
The  man  in  this  parable  who  is  meeting 
retribution  is  not  punished  by  his  Father;  he 
is  punished  by  his  sin.  If  a  child,  in  dis- 
obedience to  an  earthly  father,  goes  near  a 
fire  and  gets  burned,  you  would  not  say  he 
was  punished  by  his  father.  It  would  be  more 
correct  to  say  that  his  father  shared  in  his 
penalty.  The  sense  of  human  parentage  is 
never  so  strong  as  when  the  father  realises 
the  child's  pain ;  it  immediately  becomes  his 
own  pain.  So  is  it  with  the  Divine  Father. 
The  filial  relation  is  not  broken  when  I  burn 
myself ;  no  flame  can  consume  that  cord.  Paul 
asks,  "  Who  can  divide  us  from  the  love  of 
God  ! "  I  do  not  think  a  place  of  retribution 
can.  Very  finely  does  this  narrative  suggest 
that,  however  wide  the  gulf  between  Dives  and 
Abraham,  there  is  a  chain  across  it.  Sympathy 
can  bridge  it ;  there  is  a  telepathic  communi- 
cation from  soul  to  soul.  Dives  holds  fast  by 
the  Divine  Fatherhood ;  the  Divine  Fatherhood 
claims  Dives  as  still  a  son. 

My  Father  who  art  in  heaven,  by  this  name 
shall  I  ever  know  Thee.  Whither  shall  I  flee 
from  the  presence  of  Thy  fatherhood !  If  I 
ascend  up  into  heaven,  it  is  there  ;  if  I  fly  to 
the  limits  of  the  earth,  it  is  thei*e  ;  and  even 
if    I    make   my   bed   in   hell,    it   is   there   also  ! 

4 


34        DIVES   IN  THE   UNDER- WORLD 

My  darkness  cannot  cover  me  from  Thy  father- 
hood ;  my  sin  cannot  make  me  less  Thy  son. 
Go  where  my  spirit  may,  it  will  never  get 
beyond  Thy  pity.  It  may  get  into  the  prison- 
house  ;  but  Thou  wilt  not  be  its  gaoler.  Is 
it  not  written  that  the  spirits  in  prison  received 
a  message  from  Thy  crucified  heart.  Blessed 
message — for  them,  for  me !  It  tells  every 
Dives  in  every  hour  of  penalty  that  Thou 
canst  span  the  gulf  which  Abraham  cannot 
span — that  fire  cannot  melt  the  golden  chain 
of  Thy  compassion,  nor  distance  break  the 
bond  that  bids  Thee  call  him  son. 


xn 

THE  NEEDS  OF  THE  SECULAR 

"Come  over  into  Macedonia,  and  help  us." — Acts  xvi.  9. 

IT  is  the  cry  of  Greece  to  Judea — the  appeal 
of  the  secular  to  the  sacred.  Greece 
had  every  secular  possession  the  heart  can 
name — beauty,  philosophy,  art,  culture,  gaiety. 
Judea  had  at  this  moment  no  secular  possession 
at  all;  she  had  only  Christ.  Yet  rich  Greece 
called  for  the  help  of  poor  Judea  !  It  is  no 
passing  picture,  no  evanescent  experience ;  it  is 
an  eternal  truth.  The  secular  world  cannot  live 
without  the  help  of  Christ.  I  do  not  mean  the 
familiar  truism  that  the  things  of  earth  are 
perishable.  I  mean  that  the  perishable  things  of 
earth  themselves  require  the  aid  of  something 
beyond  them ;  time  cries  to  eternity,  "  Come 
over,  and  help  us ! "  No  man  can  fulfil  the 
duties  of  the  hour  by  the  light  of  the  hour ; 
it  is  always  by  a  coming  light.  The  school- 
boy  works    for    his    prize,    the    clerk    for    hia 

35 


36   THE  NEEDS  OF  THE  SECULAR 

promotion.  Nothing  of  value  is  stimulated  by 
the  mere  sense  of  the  moment.  Not  even 
charity  is  so  stimulated.  My  benevolence  for 
anything  is  proportionate  to  my  idea  of  its 
longevity.  Rome  had  no  hospitals  for  in- 
curables, no  infirmaries  for  lives  useless  to  the 
state.  Why  have  we  such  institutions?  It  is 
because  we  think  of  these  people  as  possible 
members  of  a  future  state.  Our  charity  has 
been  born  of  our  faith  and  our  hope.  Why 
do  we  not  foUow^  the  Roman  in  eliminating 
deformed  infants?  Because  we  have  more 
pity?  Nay,  I  think  the  Roman  was  prompted 
by  pity.  We  refuse  to  follow,  not  because  we 
feel  more  deeply,  but  because  we  see  more 
clearly.  We  have  caught  sight  of  another 
chance  for  the  deformed  infant — a  chance 
which  his  misfortune  will  not  impair.  We 
have  seen  that  he  too  is  worth  training,  worth 
educating,  worth  moulding — that  there  is  a 
place  waiting  for  him  in  a  republic  even  larger 
than  that  of  Rome. 

Come  over,  and  help  us,  O  Christ !  Come 
over,  and  help  that  life  which  we  call  secular! 
Come  over,  and  help  our  charities ;  teach  us 
the  eternal  value  of  our  brother's  body  and 
soul !  Come  over,  and  help  our  pleasures  ;  give 
us  that  self-forgetfulness  which  imparts  zest  to 
every  joy !     Come  over,  and  help  our  business ; 


THE  NEEDS  OF  THE  SECULAR    37 

Thy  peace  can  preserve  from  panic  in  counting- 
house  and  exchange !  Come  over,  and  help  our 
manners  ;  Thy  grace  can  make  us  gracious,  the 
brightness  of  Thy  face  can  brighten  ours ! 
Come  over,  and  help  our  sense  of  the  beautiful ; 
let  us  read  Thy  soul  in  all  things,  and  all 
things  will  be  twice  lovely !  Come  over,  and 
help  our  forgiveness ;  let  pity  for  the  injurer 
take  the  place  of  wounded  pride !  Come  over, 
and  help  our  toiling  ;  double  work  will  follow 
when  we  shall  rest  in  the  spirit !  No  school 
trains  for  earth  like  Thy  school  of  heaven; 
come  over,  and  help  us,  O  Lord  ! 


xni 

THE  GIFT  OF  SANGUINENESS 

'•  That  ye  may  abound  in  hope,  through  the  power  of  the 
Holy  Ghost." — Rom.  xv.  13. 

TO  "  abound  in  hope "  means,  as  I  take  it, 
to  "  have  the  sanguine  temperament."  It 
expresses,  not  so  much  the  idea  of  intensity, 
as  the  thought  of  pervasiveness — an  atmosphere 
of  hope.  The  startling  thing  is  to  hear  a 
sanguine  temperament  spoken  of  as  a  gift  of 
the  Spirit.  We  are  apt  to  look  upon  it  with 
rather  a  patronising  eye.  We  think  of  it  as 
the  attribute  of  a  child,  of  a  boy,  of  a  little 
nature.  We  can  see  how  faith  should  be  a 
gift  of  the  Spirit ;  we  can  see  how  love  should 
be  a  gift  of  the  Spirit ;  but  hope  seems  too 
lowly  a  flower  for  such  a  planting.  And  yet 
I  think  it  requires  a  greater  exercise  of  Divine 
power  to  inspire  with  habitual  hope  than  to 
inspire  either  with  habitual  faith  or  with 
habitual    love.      Faith    and    love    both    get    a 

38 


I  THE   GIFT   OF  SANGUINENESS         39 

training  in  this  world.  The  child  is  taught 
to  trust  his  parents ;  the  man  is  bound  to  his 
brother  by  the  ties  of  friendship.  But  hope 
gets  no  training  in  this  world.  There  are  no 
materials  for  its  training.  Its  gleams  are  too 
few  and  fleeting  to  influence  the  eye  ;  its  effects 
are  too  transient  to  mould  the  heart.  If  there 
is  to  be  a  training  for  hope,  it  must  come  from 
another  world — from  God's  world.  There  must 
be  gleams  from  beyond  the  earth,  songs  from 
beyond  the  air.  There  must  be  sights  which 
eye  hath  not  seen,  sounds  w^hich  ear  hath  not 
heard,  thoughts  which  heart  hath  not  conceived. 
We  have  all  some  object  whom  we  can  trust 
for  ever  ;  we  have  all  some  object  whom  we 
can  love  for  ever ;  but  we  have  no  earthly 
object  whom  we  can  see  for  ever  in  the 
sunshine.  The  source  of  perpetual  hope  is  God 
alone. 

Spirit  Divine,  I  ask  from  Thee  that  most 
precious  of  gifts — a  sanguine  mind.  It  is  not 
so  much  any  special  hope  that  I  ask,  as  hope 
abounding — hope  pervasive.  I  ask,  not  so  much 
the  spring  of  the  year,  as  the  elastic  spring  of 
the  heart.  The  spring  of  the  year  must  fade, 
but  the  spring  of  the  heart  can  abide  for  ever. 
May  it  abide  with  7ne,  this  elastic  spring !  Not 
alone  in  my  soaring,  not  alone  in  my  singing, 
may  I  feel  its  power  !     May  it  abide   with  me 


40         THE  GIFT  OF  SANGUINENESS 

when  the  glass  is  low — when  there  is  no  ground 
for  its  existence  in  anything  outside !  When 
fast  falls  the  eventide,  when  the  darkness 
deepens,  when  other  helpers  fail  and  comforts 
flee,  may  it  abide  with  me !  There  is  no 
triumph  of  hope  like  its  triumph  in  the  dark ; 
give  me  that  triumph,  O  Lord !  There  are 
times  when  men  can  only  account  for  my  hope 
by  saying,  "  He  has  a  sanguine  temperament "  ; 
they  mean  that  it  lies  in  the  spirit  alone.  I 
bless  Thee  for  such  times !  They  prove  that 
joy  is  my  native  element;  they  tell  me  that  I 
was  born  to  sing.  Ever  keep  that  singing  in 
my  soul !  However  old  the  flesh,  let  my  heart 
be  young  !  However  weak  the  hand,  let  my 
heart  be  strong !  However  bent  the  form,  let 
my  heart  be  light !  However  cold  the  day,  let 
my  heart  be  warm  !  However  dim  the  sky,  let 
my  heart  be  morning  !  Then  shall  I  know  how 
Divine  a  gift  is  that  hope  which  enters  by  no 
outward  door. 


XIV 

THE    PREMONITIONS    OF    DIVINE    GRACE 

"Jesus  sent  messengers  before  His  face." — Lukb  ix.  52. 

EVERYTHING  in  the  world  has  premonitory 
symptoms — messengers  whom  it  sends 
beforehand  to  tell  of  its  coming.  All  things 
predict  themselves  before  they  appear.  There 
are  days  in  the  spring  which  prefigure  the 
summer ;  there  are  days  in  the  child  which 
prefigure  the  man.  Grace,  too,  has  its  prog- 
nostics— its  anticipative  swallows.  There  are 
birds  whose  flight  predicts  a  storm ;  but  there 
are  also  birds  whose  flight  predicts  a  calm. 
When  Christ  is  coming  to  the  soul  there  is 
always  a  preliminary  movement  of  wings — 
the  wings  of  the  spirit.  Does  not  He  tell  us 
Himself  that  the  sign  of  His  coming  will  be 
swift  movement — unrest,  "As  the  lightning 
cometh  out  of  the  east  and  shineth  even  unto 
the  w^est,  even  so  shall  the  coming  of  the  Son 
of    Man    be."     And    is    it    not    true    to    man's 


42     PREMONITIONS   OF   DIVINE   GRACE 

experience  ?  Is  not  unrest  ever  the  premonitory 
symptom  of  the  spiritual  dawn  ?  It  is  so  even 
with  intellectual  dawn  ;  I  revolt  from  the  old 
long  before  I  have  a  sight  of  the  new.  But 
in  the  sphere  of  grace  it  is  specially  so.  There 
are  hundreds  of  people  still  outside  the  higher 
life  who  have  yet  become  weary  of  the  lower. 
They  have  not  seen  over  the  wall,  but  they 
have  struck  against  the  wall.  They  have  found 
the  world  too  small  for  them — not  a  bad  place 
but  an  inadequate  place.  They  want,  not  less 
of  it,  but  more — more  fellowship,  more  com- 
panionship, more  brotherhood,  more  social 
intercourse.  They  are  weary  of  conventionalism, 
weary  of  stilted  proprieties,  weary  of  counting 
their  own  steps.  The  ball-room  offends  them, 
not  because  it  is  a  ball-room,  but  because  it  is 
a  masked  room — a  place  where  words  are  not 
meant  to  reveal.  The  dance  offends  them,  not 
by  its  joys,  but  by  its  jealousies.  They  want 
to  reap  more  pleasure  from  the  world,  more 
gain  from  gaiety,  more  freedom  from  friend- 
ship.    Their   cry  is,   "Set   my  feet  in  a  larger 


room 


And  such  cries,  O  Christ,  are  Thy  messengers 
to  me.  They  are  John  Baptist  in  the  wilder- 
ness ;  they  tell  me  Thou  art  near.  They  tell 
me,  not  that  the  world  is  passing  away,  but 
that  its  circumscribedness  is  passing  away.     They 


PREMONITIONS    OF   DIVINE   GRACE      43 

call  me,  not  to  a  life  of  asceticism,  but  to  a 
life  of  less  asceticismi.  Through  the  still  air 
I  hear  them  depreciating  the  size  of  my  world, 
tempting  me  to  larger  rooms.  It  is  not  my 
love  for  the  creature  they  condemn  ;  it  is  the 
want  of  it.  They  ask  from  me  more  love  for 
the  creature — more  service  of  man.  And  they 
ask  it  because  Thou  art  coming  and  because 
the  service  of  man  is  Thy  service.  They  ask 
it  because  Thy  love  for  the  creature  is  bound- 
less. They  bid  me  come  out  into  the  world — 
the  big  world — Thy  world.  They  bid  me  leave 
the  villages,  the  hamlets,  the  rustic  places,  and 
emerge  into  Thy  city  of  human  souls.  They  bid 
me  quit  the  masked  ball  for  the  unmasked 
assembly — the  general  assembly  of  the  first- 
bom  and  the  spirits  of  the  just  made  perfect 
and  the  spirits  of  the  unjust  that  are  still  to 
be  purified.  My  first  prophecy  of  Thy  coming 
is  my  cry  for  a  larger  earth. 


XV 

THE  BOLDNESS  OF  PETER  AND  JOHN 

"When  they  saw  the  boldness  of  Peter  and  John,  they 
took  knowledge  of  them,  that  they  had  been  with  Jesus."- 
AcTS  iv.  13. 

THESE  two  men  drew  one  quality  from 
the  same  source  ;  they  had  both  become 
bold  from  living  with  Jesus.  Yet  it  was  not 
the  same  kind  of  boldness.  Peter  and  John 
were  both  courageous ;  yet  the  courage  of 
Peter  was  as  unlike  the  courage  of  John  as 
the  sun  is  unlike  the  moon.  When  Christ 
gives  the  same  quality  to  two  men  He  does 
not  thereby  make  them  the  same  man.  The 
light  which  shines  on  the  wall  comes  from 
the  same  source  as  the  light  which  shines  on 
the  river ;  but  no  one  would  mistake  the  light 
on  the  river  for  the  light  on  the  wall.  Even 
so,  no  one  would  mistake  the  courage  of  Peter 
for  the  courage  of  John.  They  are  not  only 
different ;    they    are    in    some    sense    opposite. 


BOLDNESS   OF  PETER   AND   JOHN     45 

Peter  has  the  courage  that  strikes  ;  John  has 
the  courage  that  waits.  Peter  is  a  force  of 
action ;  John  is  a  force  of  bearing.  Peter 
draws  the  sword ;  John  lies  on  the  bosom. 
Peter  crosses  the  sea  to  meet  Jesus ;  John 
tarries  till  the  Lord  conies.  Peter  goes  into 
the  sepulchre  where  the  body  of  Jesus  has 
lain  ;  John  merely  looks  in — keeps  the  image 
of  sorrow  in  his  heart.  Christ  needs  each  of 
these  types.  There  are  times  when  His  king- 
dom requires  the  courage  of  the  hand — the 
power  of  actual  contact  with  danger.  There 
are  times  w^hen  it  needs  the  courage  of  the 
heart — the  power  to  wait  when  nothing  can 
be  done,  and  to  keep  the  spirit  up  when  the 
hand  must  be  let  down.  Life  has  both  its 
Galilee  and  its  Patmos — its  place  for  work 
and  its  place  for  waiting ;  and  for  both  it 
requires  courage. 

And  yet  methinks,  my  soul,  thou  needst  it 
most  for  Patmos.  John's  courage  is  the  least 
shining,  yet  is  it  not  the  most  difficult !  There 
are  men  who  could  be  bold  in  Galilee  who 
could  not  be  bold  in  Patmos.  It  is  a  hard 
thing  to  keep  the  vision  of  hope  before  thee 
when  thou  art  in  island  life.  It  is  compara- 
tively easy  to  have  courage  in  the  battle  ;  the 
sight  of  the  multitude  inspires  boldness.  But 
to  have   courage   in   the   moment  of  isolation, 


46  BOLDNESS  OF  PETER  AND  JOHN 

to  have  courage  when  there  is  no  spectator, 
to  have  courage  when  thou  art  alone  with 
thine  own  thoughts  and  hearest  not  the  chorus 
of  human  sympathy — this  is  an  arduous  thing  ! 
And  this  is  the  thing  that  is  most  asked  of 
thee.  Thy  most  tragic  moments  are  thy 
Patmos  moments.  Thy  deepest  struggles  are 
ever  in  the  wilderness.  The  duty  most  re- 
quired of  thee  is  to  bear.  Not  to  say  to  this 
mountain,  "  Be  thou  removed ! "  is  thy  greatest 
need.  The  power  wanted  of  thee  is  to  keep 
this  mountain  on  thy  breast  without  fainting. 
The  courage  of  faith  can  cast  it  into  the  sea ; 
but  only  the  courage  of  love  can  bear  its 
pressure.  They  are  brave  soldiers  that  meet 
Christ  in  Galilee ;  but  methinks  the  honours 
of  the  day  are  reserved  for  the  men  of  Patmos. 
Meet  Him  in  Patmos,  O  my  soul  I 


XVI 

MY  KNOWLEDGE   OF  GOD   A 
RECOGNITION 

"Return  unto  thy  rest,  O  my  soul ! "— PsA.  cxvi.  7. 

"  "p  ETURN  unto  thy  rest."  Why  "  return  "  ? 
J-^  Why  not  say  "enter  into  thy  rest"? 
It  is  because  the  Psalmist  feels  that  the  atmo- 
sphere of  goodness  is  the  soul's  native  air. 
We  breathe  it  like  a  former  atmosphere  ;  we 
feel  at  home  in  it.  When  we  do  wrong  we 
have  not  the  sense  of  being  at  home.  Even 
the  worst  man  is  not  quite  comfortable  in  the 
air  of  evil ;  he  does  not  breathe  freely.  But 
when  a  bad  man  is  surprised  into  doing  some- 
thing good  he  does  breathe  freely.  His  sensa- 
tion may  be  unusual ;  but  it  is  recognised  by 
him  as  his  normal  state,  the  state  which  suits 
him.  However  unusual  your  sense  of  comfort 
may  be,  the  fact  that  it  is  comfort  proves  it 
to  be  normal.  I  could  not  rest  in  anything 
which   was   quite    new   to    me.      What    is    rest 


48        KNOWLEDGE  A  RECOGNITION 

but  congruity  ?  That  in  which  my  soul  reposes 
must  be  a  previous  possession  of  my  soul.  It 
matters  not  how  far  I  have  wandered  from  it, 
it  matters  not  how  long  it  be  since  I  have 
seen  it ;  if  my  sight  of  it  brings  repose  it  must 
somewhere,  somehow  have  been  in  contact 
with  me.  All  rest  must  be  a  return.  Nothing 
is  rest  at  the  beginning  ;  all  first  meetings  are 
painful  to  the  soul.  A  meeting  which  brings 
rest  proves  that  between  me  and  the  other 
there  has  been  a  previous  acquaintance.  If 
the  voice  fails  to  ruffle  me,  it  is  because  it  is 
the  voice  of  long  ago. 

Thou  Christ  of  Calvary,  my  meeting  with 
Thee  has  been  a  recognition  of  Thee.  In  that 
meeting  I  have  found  rest  unto  my  soul.  I 
could  not  have  found  rest  to  my  soul  if  I  had 
not  met  Thee  before ;  flesh  and  blood  could 
never  have  revealed  it.  The  song  of  Bethlehem 
came  to  me  as  no  new  song.  I  seemed  to 
remember  hearing  its  cadences  in  the  long 
long  ago.  Not  as  a  stranger  did  I  go  forth  to 
greet  Thee.  Something  in  my  heart  responded 
to  the  ocean  of  Thy  love.  A  drop  of  its  spray 
must  have  fallen  there  in  the  days  of  yore. 
The  voice  of  my  heart  became  the  murmur  of 
the  shell  sighing  for  its  parent  sea.  And  when 
the  sea  rolled  in,  when  the  ocean  of  Thy  love 
broke  upon   my  shore,  deep   called   unto  deep. 


KNOWLEDGE   A   RECOGNITION        49 

I  recognised  the  old  home  ;  I  distinguished  the 
old  song.  The  murmur  of  my  heart  went  out 
to  meet  the  murmur  of  the  great  sea.  The 
imprisoned  drop  of  spray  leapt  up  to  greet 
the  spray  of  the  living  waters,  the  fountains 
of  Thy  life.  I  knew  Thee ;  I  remembered 
Thee  ;  I  recognised  Thee.  I  knew  Thee  better 
than  I  knew  the  husks  of  the  far  country 
which  had  been  my  country.  I  had  lived 
among  them  for  years,  and  I  had  seen  Thee 
but  for  a  moment ;  yet  they  were  foreign  to 
me  ;  Thou  wert  home,  sweet  home.  In  coming 
to  Thee  I  do  not  feel  that  I  have  risen ; 
rather  do  I  seem  to  have  resumed  my  native 
air.  The  lark  and  the  eagle  soar  beyond  their 
nest ;  but  my  heart  soars  to  find  its  nest,  and 
the  burden  of  its  song  is  ever  this,  "Return 
unto  thy  rest,  O  my  soul ! " 


xvn 

GOD'S    STANDARD    OF    PROSPERITY 

"  Surely  goodness  and  mercy  shall  follow  me," — Psa.  xxiii.  6. 

THERE  is  a  mercy  which  goes  before  us,  and 
there  is  a  mercy  which  follows  us.  The 
one  is  the  clearing  of  our  own  path ;  the  other 
is  the  clearing  of  a  path  for  our  brother  man. 
There  is  an  expression,  "May  your  path  be 
strewn  with  flowers  ! "  That  may  mean  one  or 
other  of  two  things.  It  may  be  the  wish  that 
you  may  be  called  to  tread  a  flowery  way,  or 
it  may  be  the  wish  that  when  you  tread  the 
thorny  way  you  may  leave  flowers  where  you 
have  passed.  The  latter  is  the  Psalmist's  aspira- 
tion, and  it  is  the  nobler  aspiration.  It  is 
an  aspiration  which  can  only  come  from  a 
"restored  soul."  Any  man  can  desire  to  be 
cradled  in  green  pastures  and  led  by  quiet 
w^aters.  But  to  desire  that  my  life  may  make 
the  pastures  green,  to  desire  that  my  life  may 

make  the  waters  quiet — that  is  a  Divine  prayer, 

eo 


GOD'S  STANDARD   OF  PROSPERITY      51 

a  Christlike  prayer.  There  is  a  prosperity  for 
which  every  good  man  is  bound  to  pray.  It  is 
finely  expressed,  I  think,  in  a  line  of  Tennyson's 
"Maud"— 

"Her  feet   have  touched  the  meadows,  and  have  left  the 
daisies  rosy." 

The  daisies  were  not  rosy  in  advance ;  they 
became  rosy  by  the  feet  touching  them.  It  was 
the  footsteps  themselves  that  exerted  a  trans- 
forming power  ;  they  created  a  flowery  path  for 
future  travellers  ;  goodness  and  mercy  followed 
them. 

Lord,  make  my  wish  thus  golden  ;  help  me  to 
say,  "  Let  goodness  and  mercy  follow  me  ! "  I 
have  been  looking  to  the  roses  that  lie  before 
me — to  the  flowers  that  others  have  spread  for 
me.  But  am  I  to  leave  no  roses  behind  me,  O 
my  Father  !  Am  I  to  leave  no  footprints  on  the 
sands  of  time  which  may  cheer  the  heart  of  some 
shipwrecked  brother !  Methinks  the  blessed 
life  is  the  life  that  bequeaths  blessing.  There 
are  men  whose  angel  goes  before  them  to 
prepare  their  way ;  and  truly  their  comfort 
should  be  deep !  But  I  think  the  richest 
consolation  is  reserved  for  those  whose  angel 
shall  follow  them — whose  feet  shall  prepare 
the  way  for  coming  geneiations.  Many  a  life 
is  pronounced  by  man  unfortunate  which   by 


52      GOD'S   STANDARD   OF  PROSPERITY 

Thee  is  pronounced  prosperous.  We  look  at 
the  bleeding  hands  "which  plucked  the  thorns ; 
we  say,  "It  is  the  record  of  a  sad  life."  But 
Thine  eye  rests  upon  the  thorns  that  are 
plucked,  on  the  pain  which  the  bleeding  hands 
have  made  impossible  to  others  ;  and  Thy 
verdict  is,  "  A  life  of  great  prosperity."  /  should 
like  to  get  that  verdict,  my  Father !  I  should 
like  Thy  recording  angel  to  tell  how  he  jour- 
neyed behind  me  and  made  my  deeds  glorious. 
I  should  like  the  future  traveller  to  say,  "  This 
path  is  thornless  because  that  man  passed 
through  the  briars."  I  should  like  a  monument 
to  be  raised,  not  to  the  thorns  I  have  escaped, 
but  to  the  thorns  I  have  cleared  away.  I  should 
desire  on  my  tombstone  this,  beyond  all  other 
epitaphs — "  Goodness  and  mercy  have  followed 
me." 


xvm 

WHERE    SHALL    I    MOST    MISS    GOD? 


"  If  Thy  presence  go  not  with  me,  carry  us  not  up  hence." — 
ExoD.  xxxiii.  15. 


THIS  is  to  my  mind  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  prayers  in  the  Bible.  It  is 
not  a  prayer  to  get  to  the  land  of  Canaan. 
It  is  rather  a  prayer  against  getting  there 
except  under  particular  conditions.  The  people 
in  the  desert  had  been  guilty  of  idolatry.  God 
was  incensed  with  them.  He  threatened  to 
withdraw  His  presence  from  them.  He  would 
cease  to  be  their  personal  guide ;  He  would 
send  an  angel  in  His  room.  He  would  not, 
indeed,  break  His  promise  of  bringing  them 
to  the  land  of  Canaan  ;  He  would  ensure  their 
entrance  there.  But  He  would  not  Himself 
lead  them  ;  He  would  put  them  in  the  hands 
of  an  emissary.  Moses  says,  "  If  we  are  to  lose 
Thy  presence,  let  us  stay  where  we  are.  I 
would  rather  lose  Thy  presence   in   the   desert 

53 


54    WHERE  SHALL  I  MOST  MISS  GOD? 

than  lose  it  in  the  land  of  Canaan.  It  is  not 
enough  for  me  that  a  safe  passage  has  been 
secured  for  me  to  the  land  of  Beulah.  I  should 
not  wish  to  go  into  the  land  of  Beulah  if  Thou 
wert  not  there.  Bad  as  Thine  absence  from 
the  desert  would  be,  it  would  be  nothing  to 
Thine  absence  from  Canaan.  If  such  a  tragic 
separation  should  come,  let  it  be  here — not 
yonder;  if  Thy  presence  go  not  with  me,  carry 
us  not  up  hence." 

And  so  it  is  w^ith  me,  O  Lord.  I  hear  men 
say  that  they  need  Thy  presence  for  the  dust 
and  the  din  and  the  battle ;  so,  doubtless,  they 
do.  Yet  I  think,  so  far  as  love  is  concerned, 
I  should  feel  Thine  absence  most  under  the 
calm  and  sunny  sky.  I  think,  if  Thy  presence 
went  from  me  at  all,  I  would  rather  it  should 
quit  me  in  the  desert  than  quit  me  in  the  land 
of  Canaan ;  I  would  say  with  Moses,  "  If  Thy 
presence  go  not  with  me,  carry  me  not  up 
hence."  The  prayer  of  every  soul  must  be, 
*'  Through  storm  and  sunshine.  Lord,  abide  with 
me  ;  yet,  methinks,  if  Thou  wert  away  I  should 
miss  Thee  in  the  sunshine  more  than  in  the 
storm.  The  storm  would  not  naturally  remind 
me  of  Thee  ;  but  the  sunshine  would.  I  have 
never  associated  Thy  presence  with  the  keen 
blast ;  but  I  have  associated  it  with  the  summer 
air.     Thou   hast  been   to  me   the    final    bloom 


WHERE  SHALL  I  MOST  MISS  GOD?    55 

on  every  flower,  the  crowning  tint  on  every 
sky.  It  is  there  that  I  should  miss  Thee.  I 
should  miss  Thee  most  in  the  spot  where  I 
used  most  to  see  Thee.  I  never  thought  of  the 
storm  as  Thy  native  garment ;  it  always  seemed 
one  of  Thy  temporary  robes.  But  the  calm  has 
to  my  heart  been  Thy  normal  vesture — chiefly 
beautiful  because  it  has  clothed  Thee.  I  should 
no  more  like  to  meet  the  calm  without  Thee 
than  I  should  like  to  see  the  old  garment  of  my 
friend  after  his  spirit  had  fled.  If  I  Tmust 
part  from  Thee,  let  it  be  now — not  in  Canaan  ! 
"  If  Thy  presence  go  not  with  me,  carry  me  not 
up  hence." 


XIX 

THE    VOICE    BEFORE    THE    DESERT 

'*  And  Jesus,  when  He  was  baptized,  went  up  straightway 
out  of  the  water.  And  lo,  a  voice  from  heaven,  saying,  This  ia 
My  beloved  Son,  in  whom  I  am  well  pleased." — Matt.  iii. 
16.  17. 

"  Then  was  Jesus  led  up  of  the  Spirit  into  the  wilderness." — 
Matt.  iv.  1. 

JESUS  is  called  the  Man  of  Sorrows,  and  such 
He  was  ;  yet  it  was  not  by  His  sorrows  that 
He  redeemed  the  world;  it  was  by  His  flashes 
of  joy.  Before  He  took  any  cross  He  had 
always  a  gleam  of  sunshine.  That  which  enabled 
Him  to  bear  the  cross  was  not  His  resignation ; 
it  was  His  gladness.  I  have  been  greatly  struck 
with  the  present  illustration  of  the  principle. 
He  was  about  to  go  into  a  wilderness — a  place 
of  solitude.  What  was  to  be  His  safeguard 
there  ?  The  spirit  of  submission  ?  The  resigna- 
tion to  calamity?  The  sense  of  life's  inherent 
misery  ?  The  resolve  not  to  be  eclipsed  by  the 
Stoic  ?     Not  one  of  these.     His  safeguard  in  the 

6<> 


THE   VOICE   BEFORE   THE   DESERT     57 

coining  solitude  was  to  be  a  voice — the  re- 
membrance of  a  companionship.  It  was  that 
which  was  to  enable  Him  to  bear  the  loneliness. 
And  it  is  ever  so  in  the  leading  of  our  Father. 
When  you  and  I  get  into  the  desert  and  refuse 
to  cry,  what  keeps  us  from  tears  is  not  simple 
fortitude  ;  it  is  the  possession  of  an  unconquered 
joy.  No  man  would  be  able  to  endure  the  desert 
of  to-day  if  it  were  not  for  the  voices  of  yester- 
day. I  believe  that  any  one  grief  would  be 
sufficient  to  kill  a  man  if  it  were  the  only  thing 
in  the  world.  Did  you  ever  ask  yourself  why 
so  many  people  under  the  shadow  do  not  die. 
It  is  because  the  shadow  covers  only  part  of  the 
man.  There  is  always  a  little  bit  of  the  body  in 
the  light.  What  keeps  me  from  succumbing  to 
any  sorrow  is  the  sunshine  on  the  other  side 
of  the  street.  If  it  were  not  for  that  the 
habitual  form  of  death  would  be  a  broken 
heart. 

I  thank  Thee,  O  Lord,  that  I  am  not  sent 
into  the  wilderness  till  I  have  gathered  joy. 
I  thank  Thee  that  I  bring  streams  with  me  into 
the  desert.  I  often  say  that  I  have  found 
streams  in  the  desert.  Yet,  in  truth,  my  Father, 
it  is  I  who  have  brought  them  there.  I  was  so 
intent  on  other  things  that  I  was  unconscious  of 
their  existence.  But  when  the  shadow  hid  the 
other   things   I   began   to  hear  a  murmur,  and 


58  THE  VOICE  BEFORE  THE  DESERT 

looking  round,  I  beheld  the  streams.  They  came 
not  from  my  desert ;  they  came  from  something 
unconquered  by  my  desert.  They  were  the 
waters  I  tasted  before  starting — tasted  almost 
mechanically,  without  observation.  But  I  thank 
Thee  for  them  now.  It  is  not  in  the  baptismal 
moment  that  I  know  the  good  of  the  waters; 
it  is  in  the  hour  of  the  desert.  The  streams  are 
underground  till  the  desert  comes.  It  is  written, 
"  There  is  laid  up  for  me  a  crown  of  glory." 
Methinks  all  our  crowns  are  "  laid  up  for  us  " — 
kept  hid  till  the  desert  hour.  I  am  quite 
unconscious  to-day  how^  much  Thy  streams  are 
refreshing  me  ;  but  I  shall  know  to-morrow.  I 
shall  find  to-djR,y's  water-brooks  in  to-morrow's 
wilderness.  I  shall  meet  Cana  at  Calvary, 
Bethlehem  at  Bethany,  Jordan  at  Jerusalem.  I 
shall  find  Thy  gems  in  the  broken  casket,  Thine 
ointment  in  the  shattered  box,  Thy  songs  in  the 
midnight  air.  Only  in  the  silence  of  the  desert 
hour  shall  I  recognise  the  Voice  that  has  been 
singing  since  the  morning. 


XX 

THE  CONVERSION  OF  THE  SEA 

'♦  The  abundance  of  the  sea  shall  be  converted  vmto  thee." — 
IsA.  Iz.  5. 

GOD'S  ancient  people  had  a  peculiar  physical 
aversion ;  they  hated  the  sea.  The  land 
of  Israel  might  be  said  to  be  a  martyr  to  sea- 
sickness. The  sea  was  its  symbol  for  all 
calamity;  the  absence  of  sea  was  its  synonym 
for  all  rest.  When  a  Jewish  writer  wanted  to 
describe  the  calm  of  heaven  he  could  find  no 
better  simile  than  this,  "  There  shall  be  no 
more  sea."  To  be  the  inhabitant  of  an  island 
was  a  fearful  thing ;  it  was  made  the  metaphor 
of  desolation — "  The  isles  wait  for  Thee."  When 
God  is  angry  with  the  old  world  He  sends,  not  a 
fire,  but  a  flood ;  it  is  the  climax  of  calamities. 
But  the  prophet  says  that  when  Messiah  comes 
men  will  change  their  minds — the  sea  shall  be 
"  converted "  to  them.  They  will  come  to 
admire  what  they  hated.     The  old  aversion  will 

69 


60      THE   CONVERSION   OF   THE   SEA 

become  a  beauty.  The  symbol  of  terror  will 
be  transformed  into  a  symbol  of  glory.  The 
waves  shall  waft  joy  to  them ;  the  foam  shall 
freshen  them ;  the  breezes  shall  brace  them ; 
the  storms  shall  strengthen  them ;  the  expanses 
shall  exhilarate  them ;  the  roar  shall  become 
rhythmic  to  them.  The  element  which  once 
suggested  an  empty  waste  shall  in  the  golden 
days  be  made  an  emblem  of  fulness.  "  Ho ! 
every  one  that  thirsteth,  come  ye  to  the 
w^aters  ! " 

Even  such,  O  Son  of  Man,  has  been  Thy 
transforming  hand ;  the  sea  at  Thy  coming  has 
been  converted  unto  me  !  I  used  to  shrink  from 
my  afflicted  brother  as  from  a  pestilence;  I 
could  not  love  the  broken.  I  stood  in  all  the 
capitals  of  the  ancient  world  and  helped  to 
drive  the  stricken  to  the  wall.  I  stood  in  the 
streets  of  Jerusalem  and  bade  the  leper  seek  the 
desert ;  I  could  not  associate  sickness  with 
sanctity.  I  stood  in  the  streets  of  Rome  and 
bade  the  invalid  seek  the  highway ;  I  could  not 
link  weakness  with  military  glory.  I  stood  in 
the  streets  of  Athens  and  bade  the  deformed 
vanish  from  my  sight ;  I  could  not  brook  a 
marred  visage  amid  the  blaze  of  physical 
beauty.  But  I  have  seen  another  city — Thy 
city,  and  I  have  found  there  all  the  banished 
forms.     The  leper  whom  I  sent  into  the  desert 


THE   CONVERSION   OF   THE   SEA      61 

is  there ;  the  invalid  whom  I  drove  into  the 
highway  is  there ;  the  deformed  from  whom  I 
closed  my  eyes  is  there.  Not  as  objects  of 
charity  are  they  there  ;  not  as  targets  for  pity 
are  they  there  ;  not  as  victims  for  ostentatious 
benevolence  are  they  there.  They  are  there  as 
competitors  in  the  race  of  glory.  Thou  hast 
made  a  wreath  for  the  laden,  O  Lord  !  All  our 
wreaths  were  for  the  labouring — for  the  men  of 
active  toil.  But  Thou  hast  garlanded  the  wait- 
ing, the  patient,  the  unrepining.  Thou  hast  a 
crown  for  the  uncrushed  soul  in  the  crushed 
body.  Thou  hast  a  wreath  for  the  unwithered 
heart  with  the  withered  hand.  Thou  hast  a 
laurel  for  the  undimmed  love  with  the  dimmed 
lustre.  Thou  hast  a  chaplet  for  the  unextin- 
guished cheer  amid  the  outward  chill.  Thou 
hast  a  palm  for  peace  in  conflict ;  Thou  hast  a 
garland  for  grace  in  sorrow ;  Thou  hast  a  rose 
for  rest  in  pain  ;  Thou  hast  a  smile  for  sweetness 
in  adversity ;  Thou  hast  a  mansion  for  music  in 
the  night.  O  Son  of  Man,  Thou  hast  beautified 
the  sea ! 


XXI 

THE  PROVINCE   OF  MENTAL  REST 

"  It  shall  come  to  pass  in  the  day  that  the  Lord  shall  give 
thee  rest  from  thy  sorrow,  that  thou  shalt  say,  How  hath  the 
oppressor  ceased  1 " — Isa.  xiv.  3,  4. 

NO  man  discerns  his  sunbeams  till  he  has 
found  rest.  When  the  mind  is  in  a  state 
of  turmoil  we  are  ignorant  of  our  own  privi- 
leges. We  are  like  Abraham  on  Mount  Moriah. 
We  are  perplexed  about  our  Isaac,  and  there- 
fore we  miss  the  ram  which  is  caught  in  the 
thicket.  The  ram  is  there  all  the  time,  yet  we 
see  it  not.  We  are  too  distressed  in  mind  to  see 
it.  Before  it  can  break  on  our  sight  we  must 
get  rest  from  our  sorrow — our  sorrow  about 
Isaac.  The  moment  Abraham  gets  rest  regard- 
ing Isaac,  he  has  a  clear  vision  of  the  ram ;  he 
cries,  "  How  has  the  oppression  ceased  ! "  The 
oppression  had  ceased  long  ago.  The  way  of 
escape  had  been  wide  open  before  his  eyes. 
There  had   never  been  any  outward  mist   over 

63 


THE   PROVINCE   OF   MENTAL  REST     63 

the  gate ;  the  gate  was  there,  and  it  was  there 
unbarred.  Why  had  he  not  seen  it?  Because 
it  was  hid  by  another  mist — the  mist  of  the 
heart.  There  are  more  things  hid  by  the  mist 
before  the  heart  than  by  the  mist  before  the  eye. 
Mary  comes  to  the  door  of  the  sepulchre  and  cries, 
"  They  have  taken  away  my  Lord,  and  I  know 
not  where  they  have  laid  Him,"  and  all  the  time 
He  is  at  her  side.  The  disciples  upon  the  road 
to  Emmaus  lament  an  absent  Christ,  and  all 
the  time  He  is  walking  with  them,  talking  with 
them.  Why  have  these  failed  to  recognise  their 
privileges  ?  Because  they  are  in  mental  unrest ; 
Mary  has  a  sad  heart,  the  disciples  have  a 
wounded  spirit.  It  is  no  use  to  anoint  the  eyes 
when  the  soul  is  weeping  ;  the  eyes  will  not  see, 
if  there  are  tears  in  the  soul.  In  vain,  if  the 
heart  is  troubled,  will  you  unveil  the  many 
mansions  in  the  house  of  my  Father.  Only 
when  my  spirit  has  rest  can  I  say,  "  How  has  the 
oppression  ceased ! " 

Lord,  I  have  been  mistaken  as  to  the  time  for 
Thy  rest.  I  have  thought  of  it  as  something 
which  comes  at  the  evening  hour — at  the  end  of 
my  day.  I  have  thought  of  it  as  a  state  of  final 
peace,  resulting  from  the  clearness  of  my  view. 
Not  so,  my  Father  !  Thy  rest  comes  not  from 
my  vision ;  it  is  my  vision  comes  from  Thy  rest. 
Not  because  I  have  seen  the  rainbow  do  I  repose 


64     THE   PROVINCE   OF   MENTAL  REST 

in  Thee  ;  I  repose  in  Thee  that  I  may  see  the 
rainbow.  I  must  rest  from  my  labour  first,  and 
then  my  works  shall  follow — my  powers  of 
beholding  Thy  glory.  Thy  rest  is  for  the  morn- 
ing, not  the  evening.  It  is  sent  to  give  me 
wings,  not  to  fold  my  ■v\'ings.  It  is  not  the  close, 
but  the  beginning,  of  my  day.  I  shall  never 
begin  to  see  Thee  till  my  seventh  morning 
dawns.  Only  when  Thy  Sabbath  rest  is  at  the 
door  shall  I  see  Thy  creation  to  be  "  very  good." 
It  has  been  "  very  good  "  all  along ;  chaos  has 
been  vanishing,  dry  land  has  been  appearing, 
stormy  waters  have  been  subsiding.  But  I 
cannot  see  this  without  my  Sabbath,  Thy 
Sabbath.  In  vain  the  light  shall  gleam,  in  vain 
the  firmament  shall  sparkle,  in  vain  the  herb 
and  plant  and  tree  shall  spring,  without  Thy 
Sabbath.  Rest  alone  can  recognise  radiance ; 
peace  alone  can  perceive  progress;  calmness 
alone  can  cry,  "  Chaos  is  dispelled  !  "  I  wait  for 
Thy  seventh  morning,  O  Lord ;  I  wait  for  Thy 
Sabbath  of  rest.  Only  when  I  am  "  still  "  shall 
I  "  know  that  Thou  art  God  " ;  when  Thou  hast 
given  my  spirit  rest  I  shall  say,  "  How  hath  the 
oppressor  ceased ! " 


XXII 
THE  LIBERATION  FROM  LEGISLATION 

"  Blotting  out  the  handwriting  of  ordinances,  and  nailing  it  to 
His  cross." — Col.  ii.  14. 

"  No  man  ever  hated  his  own  flesh." — Eph.  v.  29. 

THERE  are  some  mothers  who  have  had 
a  handwriting  of  rules  hung  upon  the 
wall  of  the  nursery,  w^hich  were  designed  to 
regulate  the  conduct  of  the  children.  Among 
these  rules  you  would  find  a  vast  variety  of 
precepts.  But  I  feel  quite  sure  that  there  would 
be  one  conspicuous  by  its  absence.  You  would 
find  no  precept  forbidding  a  boy  to  strike  him- 
self. Why  would  such  a  precept  be  absent? 
Because  it  would  be  useless.  No  man  ever  hated 
his  own  flesh,  and  so  there  is  no  need  to  put 
up  a  rule  prohibiting  self-hurt.  Now,  this  is 
Paul's  idea  of  the  abolished  handwriting.  It 
is  abolished  because  it  has  become  useless.  As 
long  as  each  man  believed  his  neighbour  to  be 
a   different  being,   it   was  essential   that   there 

8  66 


66     LIBERATION  FROM  LEGISLATION 

should  be  rules  as  to  his  conduct  towards  him. 
But  when  a  man  comes  to  Christ  he  feels  that 
his  neighbour  is  a  part  of  himself — he  loves  his 
neighbour  as  himself.  Any  gain  to  his  neigh- 
bour would  be  a  gain  to  him  ;  any  hurt  to  his 
neighbour  Tvould  be  a  hurt  to  him.  Accordingly, 
there  is  no  need  to  hang  up  rules — "  Thou  shalt 
not  kill,"  "Thou  shalt  not  steal,"  "Thou  shalt 
not  bear  false  witness."  That  w^ould  be  saying 
to  the  boy,  "  Do  not  strike  yourself."  When  my 
neighbour  is  a  part  of  myself,  the  rules  are  taken 
down  from  the  nursery  wall  and  nailed  to 
Christ's  Cross.  Law  merges  into  love.  Even 
as  the  light  of  the  separate  planets  merges  in 
the  morning  sun,  so  do  the  Ten  Statutes  melt 
in  one  blaze  of  glory  which  comprehends  and 
transcends  them  all — the  fire  of  the  heart. 

Enlarge  my  self-nature,  O  my  Father  !  What 
I  need  to  make  me  unselfish  is  not  fewer  rooms, 
but  more.  Give  me  more  rooms  in  my  dwelling, 
O  Lord !  Help  me  to  feel  that  the  life  of  my 
brother  man  is  a  part  of  my  life  !  Unite  me  to 
him  by  a  common  centre  !  Give  me  the  sense 
that  he  is  a  member  of  my  body !  Let  me 
experience  his  pain  as  my  pain,  his  joy  as  my 
joy !  When  I  speak  of  my  self-interest,  may  I 
mean  his  interest  as  well  as  mine !  May  every 
disappointment  to  him  be  felt  by  me  as  against 
my  interest !    When  I  hear  of  his  impoverish- 


LIBERATION  FROM  LEGISLATION     67 

ment,  may  it  be  to  me  the  tidings  of  a  personal 
loss ;  when  I  hear  of  his  promotion,  may  it  be 
to  me  the  tidings  of  a  personal  gain  !  Help  me 
to  understand  the  tears  of  Thy  Christ  over 
Jerusalem !  Help  me  to  understand  the  tears  of 
Thy  Christ  over  Bethany  !  Help  me  to  under- 
stand that  He  wept  for  His  own  flesh,  wept  for 
the  members  of  His  own  body !  Help  me  to 
realise  that  the  wounds  of  Jerusalem  wounded 
Him,  that  the  griefs  of  Bethany  grieved  Him  ! 
Help  me  to  see  that  His  sympathy  came  from 
the  rent  in  His  own  heart !  Help  me  to  know 
that,  when  He  saw^  the  wheels  of  life  bring 
hunger  and  thirst  and  cold  and  sickness  to 
others,  He  said  by  Divine  telepathy,  "  They  did 
it  unto  Me  "  !  When  I  have  comprehended  that 
Life  of  Love,  there  will  be  no  need  any  longer  to 
inscribe  the  rules  upon  my  nursery  wall. 


xxin 

THE  PRAYER  PROMPTED  BY  HEAVEN 


"  Ask  of  Me,  and  I  shall  give  Thee  the  heathen  for  Thine 
inheritance." — PsA.  ii.  8. 


THE  words  are  spoken  by  God  to  the  Messiah. 
The  Father  prompts  His  Christ  what  to 
ask  for.  I  believe  all  successful  prayer  to  be 
a  prompting  from  the  Father.  My  prayer  does 
not  change  His  mind ;  it  is  His  mind  that 
dictates  my  prayer.  Efficacious  prayer  is  not  so 
much  a  petition  as  a  prophecy ;  it  is  my  Father 
saying  to  me,  "  This  is  My  will ;  ask  this"  And 
what  is  this  prayer  which  the  Father  prompts 
the  Christ  to  offer  ?  It  is  worth  while  to  mark 
it,  for  we  may  be  sure  that  we  too  may  offer  it 
unconditionally — that  it  is  always  on  the  lines 
of  God's  will.  It  is  the  prayer  that  Christ  may 
possess  the  secular  world.  "Ask  of  Me,  and  I 
will  give  Thee  the  secular  world  for  Thine 
inheritance" — so  speaks  the  Father  to  all  who 
wish  that  Christ's  kingdom  should  come.     And 

§8 


PRAYER  PROMPTED  BY  HEAVEN  69 

who  at  the  present  day  does  not  wish  it  ?  Is 
it  not  the  aim  of  our  day  to  make  Christ  a 
secular  power  !  Do  we  not  want  to  give  Him 
an  inheritance  in  things  which  were  once  deemed 
outside !  His  religion  used  to  be  something 
apart  from  the  Avorld  ;  it  was  limited  to  the 
sanctuary.  But  now  we  are  claiming  for  Him 
the  world  also.  We  are  resisting  the  separa- 
tion between  Nature  and  Grace.  We  begin 
to  feel  that  Nature  is  also  a  grace  from  our 
Father.  We  have  ceased  to  speak  of  earthly 
beauty,  of  temporal  gifts,  of  natural  virtues. 
To  us,  all  beauty  is  Divine,  all  gifts  eternal, 
all  virtues  graces  of  the  Spirit.  We  have 
claimed  for  Jesus  what  the  tempter  offered 
Him — the  kingdoms  of  the  world  and  the  glory 
of  them.  We  have  claimed  the  wine  of  Cana 
and  the  feast  of  Bethany.  We  have  claimed 
the  Sabbath  walk  in  the  cornfields  and  the 
Sabbath  work  out  of  church  and  the  good  work 
done  by  one  who  followed  not.  We  have  done 
for  the  common  things  of  life  what  was  done 
for  the  little  children — we  have  brought  them  to 
be  blessed  by  Jesus. 

Ever  more,  O  Christ,  may  Thy  secular  king- 
dom come  !  Ever  in  deeper  measure  may  the 
Father  give  Thee  the  heathen  for  Thine  inheri- 
tance !  I  do  not  ask  that  my  secular  gifts 
should    be   put   to  a   sacred    use.     I      do     not 


70  PRAYER  PROMPTED  BY  HEAVEN 

ask  that  my  voice  should  sing  in  a  choir, 
that  my  poetry  should  write  hymns,  that  my 
architecture  should  build  churches.  No ;  that 
would  be  for  Thee  only  a  partial  victory.  I 
want  these  things  to  be  for  Thee  while  remain- 
ing in  their  old  sphere.  I  want  my  voice  to  sing 
for  Thee  the  wor^ld's  songs.  I  want  my  brush  to 
paint  for  Thee  the  world's  scene.  I  want  my 
poetry  to  hymn  for  Thee  the  world's  story.  I 
would  claim  for  Thee,  not  alone  the  old  powers, 
but  the  old  fields.  I  would  make  Thine  my 
social  hours,  Thine  my  domestic  joys,  Thine  my 
moments  of  gaiety.  I  would  dedicate  to  Thee 
my  music  and  my  dancing,  my  buying  and  my 
selling,  my  winning  and  my  wearing.  I  would 
value  all  my  powers,  not  only  as  a  gift  from 
Thee,  but  as  a  gift  for  Thee.  The  things  once 
claimed  for  the  heathen  I  would  make  Thine 
inheritance. 


XXIV 
THE  ABUSE   OF  RELIGIOUS   FAITH 

"  Then  the  devil  setteth  Him  on  a  pinnacle  of  the  temple, 
and  saith  unto  Him,  If  Thou  be  the  Son  of  God,  cast  Thyself 
down,  for  it  is  written,  He  shall  give  His  angels  charge  con- 
cerning Thee." — Matt.  iv.  5,  6. 

PROFESSOR  TYNDALL,  in  the  interest  of 
a  scientific  scepticism,  once  made  a  pro- 
posal to  the  religious  world.  He  offered  to 
subject  the  question  of  prayer's  value  to  the 
test  of  an  experiment.  He  proposed  to  have 
two  hospitals,  each  filled  with  sick  people. 
He  suggested  that  the  one  should  be  made  a 
subject  for  prayer,  and  the  other  not.  If  the 
hospital  which  was  made  the  subject  of  prayer 
turned  out  more  convalescents  than  the  other, 
it  would  be  in  favour  of  the  Christian  doc- 
trine ;  if  not,  it  would  show  the  valuelessness 
of  the  whole  process.  Until  I  heard  Professor 
Tyndall's  proposal,  I  never  understood  the 
meaning    of    the    second    temptation    recorded 

71 


72     THE  ABUSE   OF  RELIGIOUS  FAITH 

by  St.  Matthew.  But  then  it  all  flashed  upon 
me.  For  the  cases  are  almost  identical.  The 
tempter  says  to  Jesus,  "You  can  put  the 
power  of  your  faith  to  the  test  of  a  public 
experiment.  Get  up  to  that  pinnacle  of  the 
temple  at  the  foot  of  which  the  crowd  are 
gathered.  You  will  never  have  a  better  oppor- 
tunity to  convince  a  multitude  of  the  power 
of  prayerful  faith.  Throw  yourself  from  the 
height  before  the  eyes  of  the  crowd,  and  let 
them  see  whether  God  will  or  will  not  keep 
His  promise."  In  both  cases  a  negative  result 
was  expected.  And  it  was  right  to  expect  such 
a  result — but  not  on  the  ground  that  the  pro- 
mise of  an  answer  to  prayer  was  a  delusion. 
The  truth  is,  neither  the  hospital  test  nor  the 
wilderness  test  gave  room  for  any  prayer  at 
all.  The  object  suggested  to  Jesus  was  not 
really  trust  in  the  Father ;  it  was  an  attempt 
to  dazzle  the  multitude.  The  object  suggested 
to  the  Christian  Society  was  not  really  the 
recovery  of  certain  inmates  of  a  hospital ;  it 
was  an  experiment  on  God.  The  recovery  of 
the  favoured  men  would  have  been  no  more 
an  answer  to  prayer  than  the  death  of  the 
unfavoured.  Prayer  can  have  only  one  object 
— the  relief  of  want.  You  can  experiment  on 
wireless  telegraphy  without  reference  to  the 
message — but  not  on  prayer.     The  prayer  is  the 


THE  ABUSE   OF  RELIGIOUS   FAITH     73 

message.  Not  the  word  but  the  wish,  not  the 
sound  but  the  sympathy,  not  the  kneeling  but 
the  need,  makes  mine  a  prayer.  It  must  be 
breathed  by  brotherhood ;  it  must  be  lit  by 
love ;  it  must  be  kindled  by  kindness ;  it  must 
be  fanned  by  fellowship ;  it  must  be  plumed 
by  pity  ;  it  must  be  sustained  by  sacrifice ;  it 
must  be  winged  by  the  wants  of  the  wilder- 
ness. 

My  soul,  let  there  be  no  display  in  thy 
worship  of  the  Father  !  If  thou  cast  thyself 
into  His  arms,  let  it  not  be  in  the  sight  of 
the  multitude !  Do  not  feel  proud  of  thy 
prayers ! — they  ought  to  be  times  of  heavi- 
ness. Do  not  say,  "  The  multitude  will  see 
what  a  pinnacle  I  stand  on ! "  Thy  pinnacle 
should  be  a  point  of  solitude — a  place  and 
hour  when  thou  art  alone  w^ith  God.  Have 
no  reason  for  thy  prayer  beyond  its  own  neces- 
sity !  Do  not  cry  to  win  sympathy,  but  only 
because  the  wells  of  the  heart  are  overflow- 
ing !  Do  not  pray  to  show  piety,  but  only 
because  the  wants  of  the  heart  are  overwhelm- 
ing !  Do  not  intercede  for  a  hospital  to  prove 
God,  but  only  because,  there,  the  friends  of 
the  heart  are  overburdened !  Let  thy  prayer 
be  the  flight  of  the  swallow  toward  the  hope 
of  a  summer !  Let  thy  prayer  be  the  song 
of  the  lark  inspired   by  the  thought  of  earth's 


74     THE  ABUSE   OF  RELIGIOUS  FAITH 

morning  !  Let  thy  prayer  be  the  flow  of  the 
stream  to  bear  a  draught  to  the  dry,  parched 
land !  Let  thy  prayer  be  the  flash  of  genius 
which  comes,  not  because  it  can,  but  because 
it  must !  Let  thy  prayer  be  the  spontaneity 
of  love  w^hose  intercession  for  the  hospital  is 
prompted,  not  by  human  science,  but  by 
human  sighs — which  labours  by  its  own  light, 
pleads  by  its  own  pity,  worships  by  its  own 
want,  comforts  by  its  own  compassion !  So 
shalt  thou  foil  the  tempter's  power. 


XXV 

ADVERSE  CIRCUMSTANCES 

"  Against  Thy  holy  child  Jesus,  both  Herod  and  Pontiua 
Pilate  were  gathered  together,  for  to  do  whatsoever  Thy  hand 
and  Thy  counsel  determined  before  to  be  done." — Acts  iv. 
27,  28. 

THIS  is  a  remarkable  passage.  It  takes  us 
by  surprise.  It  is  a  literary  surprise. 
The  sentence  ends  just  in  the  opposite  way 
to  what  we  are  prepared  for.  We  expect  it 
to  read  thus :  "  Against  Thy  holy  child  Jesus 
both  Herod  and  Pilate  were  gathered  together 
to  circumvent  the  course  of  Thy  Divine  will." 
Instead  of  that,  we  read,  "Against  Thy  holy 
child  Jesus  both  Herod  and  Pilate  were 
gathered  together  to  do  whatever  Thy  counsel 
had  deterfnined  to  be  done."  The  idea  is  that 
their  effort  of  opposition  to  the  Divine  will 
proved  to  be  a  stroke  of  alliance  with  it. 
The  measures  they  took  to  wreck  the  ship 
became  the  very  means  of  keeping  the  ship 
afloat.      They    met    together    in    a    council    of 

76 


76  ADVERSE   CIRCUMSTANCES 

war  against  Christ ;  unconsciously  to  them- 
selves they  signed  a  treaty  for  the  promo- 
tion of  Christ's  glory.  They  thought  they 
were  making  a  will  in  favour  of  His  enemies  ; 
they  were  really  bequeathing  all  their  wealth 
to  the  Man  of  Nazareth.  They  decreed  that 
He  should  die ;  that  decree  was  their  contri- 
bution of  palm-leaves.  No  one  has  done  so 
much  for  the  triumphal  entry  of  Jesus  into 
the  world  as  did  Herod  and  Pilate  when  they 
met  together  to  shut  the  door.  They  opened 
the  door  in  their  effort  to  lock  it.  They  made 
a  laurel  for  Jesus  in  trying  to  make  a  cypress. 
In  the  darkness  of  night  they  constructed 
what  seemed  to  be  a  cross ;  they  came  back 
in  the  morning,  and,  lo  !  it  was  a  crown  ! 

My  brother,  God  never  thwarts  adverse  cir- 
cumstances ;  that  is  not  His  method.  I  have 
often  been  struck  with  these  words — "  He 
rideth  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind."  They 
are  most  suggestive.  Our  God  does  not  beat 
down  the  storme  that  rise  against  Him ;  He 
rides  upon  them  ;  He  w^orks  through  them.  You 
are  often  surprised  that  so  many  thorny  paths 
are  allowed  to  be  open  for  the  good — how 
that  aspiring  boy  Joseph  is  put  in  a  dun- 
geon— how^  that  beautiful  child  Moses  is  cast 
into  the  Nile.  You  would  have  expected  Pro- 
vidence  to    have    interrupted    the    opening   of 


ADVERSE   CIRCUMSTAJ^CES  77 

these  pits   destined   for   destruction.     Well,  He 
might  have   done   so ;   He   might  have   said  to 
the   storm,  "  Peace,    be   still ! "     But   there   was 
a   more   excellent   way — to   ride   upon   it.     God 
said,  "  I  will  not  shut  the  pit,  but  I  will  make 
it  the  road  to  the  throne  of  Egypt ;  I  will  not 
dry  the  Nile,  but  I   will   make   it  the  channel 
to  a  great   sea ;   I   will   not   prevent  the   cross, 
but  I   will   make   it   the   world's   crown."     You 
too   should   ride   upon   the   wings  of  the  wind. 
Say  not,  "  I   must   take   shelter   till   the   storm 
passes."     Say    not,    "  God   will    sweep    it  away 
that   I   may   come    nearer    to   Himself."      Nay, 
it    is    the    storm    that    will   bring   you   nearer. 
He  maketh  the   clouds   His  chariot.     Leap  into 
His    chariot!     Commit    yourself    to    the   black 
horses !     Go   out  to   7neet   the   storm !     Recline 
upon  the  bosom  of   the   cloud  !     Ride  upon  the 
wings   of   the  wind !     And   they   will  bear   you 
home.     They   will   bring   you  to  the  Ararat  of 
rest.    Your  days  of  toil  will  make  your  Sabbath ; 
your  desert  will  make  your  Canaan ;  your  cross 
will  make  your  crown.     Herod  and  Pilate  may 
divert  you  from  your  way;  but  they  will  send 
you  by  a  nearer  road  to  the  Promised  Land. 


XXVI 

THE  FIRST  SPHERE   OF   REGENERATION 


"He   that  was  dead  sat  up,   and  began  to  speak.     And 
He  delivered  him  to  his  mother." — Lukr  vii.  15. 


H 


not  a  lame  and  impotent  conclusion  J 
Would  you  not  have  expected  that  if  a  man 
were  raised  from  death  to  life  it  would  be 
for  the  sake  of  entering  into  higher  spheres  ! 
We  hear  of  men  every  day  raised  from  death 
to  life,  or,  as  we  say,  "  regenerated "  ;  and  we 
always  take  it  for  granted  that  when  the  new 
life  has  come  it  w^ill  soar  up  in  Elijah's  chariot, 
will  leave  the  old  things  behind.  But  are  we 
right  in  taking  this  for  granted  !  Why  should 
not  the  new  life  rather  be  given  to  fill  the 
old  sphere  better !  Have  any  of  us,  when  we 
are  dead  in  trespasses  and  in  sin,  been  adequate 
to  what  we  call  the  lower  sphere  !  Do  you 
think  an  unregenerate  man  is  well  fitted  for 
the    domestic    duties    of    this    widow's    son   at 

78 


FIRST  SPHERE   OF   REGENERATION    79 

Nain !  Certainly  not.  Such  a  man  will  be  no 
more  at  home  in  the  family  of  earth  than 
in  the  family  of  heaven.  When  Christ 
infuses  new  life  into  a  man  it  is  not  to 
do  new  work.  The  old  work  has  not  been 
properly  done.  It  is  not  as  if  he  were  too 
advanced  for  his  present  school  and  had  to  be 
promoted  to  a  higher  school.  He  has  not  been 
up  to  his  village  school ;  it  has  been  beyond 
him.  He  has  never  been  able  to  fulfil  the 
domestic  duties  of  the  Nain  household.  It  is 
to  help  him  to  fulfil  these  duties  that  the  new 
life  comes.  Doubtless  it  has  larger  spheres 
beyond  ;  but  this  is  its  opening  sphere.  Elijah's 
chariot  must  not  begin  by  bearing  him  up ; 
it  must  bear  him  round.  It  must  go  over  the 
old  circle  where  he  used  to  w^alk  with  tottering 
steps  and  work  with  feeble  hands.  It  must 
first  let  him  down  at  his  own  door.  He  must 
enter  the  old  home  with  a  new  spirit.  He 
must  resume  the  household  task  with  a  fresh 
heart.  He  must  do  by  the  will  what  he  had 
tried  to  do  by  the  law.  Truly  it  is  a  grand 
saying  that  when  Jesus  had  raised  the  young 
man  "  He  delivered  him  to  his  mother  "  ! 

Lord,  it  is  not  for  new  work  I  want  Thy 
Spirit.  I  do  not  seek  loftier  spheres.  I  want 
to  revisit  the  old  scenes.  If  Thou  wilt  open 
a  new  lens  in  the  eye,  the  things  I  should  like 


80    FIRST  SPHERE   OF   REGENERATION 

first  to  see  are  the  former  things.  I  should 
like  to  go  back  to  the  haunts  of  early  days. 
I  should  like  to  find  new  beauties  in  the  old 
flowers,  fresh  lights  in  the  familiar  faces.  I 
would  not  be  transplanted  to  the  stars  till 
I  had  seen  the  earth.  May  Thy  Spirit  lead  me 
back — back  to  what  once  was  my  wilderness ! 
May  it  lead  me  to  the  ancient  pastures  with 
a  restored  soul !  May  it  deliver  me  again  into 
the  ties  of  human  relationship — into  the  family 
circle,  the  home  duties,  the  domestic  round ! 
May  I,  like  Lazarus  risen  from  the  dead,  resume 
my  place  at  the  social  board — dispense,  with 
heavenly  hand,  the  hospitahties  of  earth !  Let 
me  weave  by  the  light  of  Eternity  the  garments 
which  I  w^ove  by  the  light  of  Time ! — only  when 
I  am  raised  into  newness  of  life  shall  I  do  the 
work  of  the  village  of  Nain. 


XXVII 

THE    NEED    OF   PRELIMINARY    SHELTER 

"  Hide  the  outcasts." — Isa.  xvi.  3. 

WHAT  a  singular  expression  of  philan- 
thropy !  I  should  have  expected  the 
words  to  be,  "  Reform  the  outcasts,  cleanse 
the  outcasts,  redeem  the  outcasts  ! "  But  the 
prophet  saw  deeper.  He  saw^  that  there  is 
something  wanted  previous  to  reform — pro- 
tection, hiding.  He  has  struck  the  keynote  of 
the  difference  between  the  gospel  of  the  Pagan 
and  the  gospel  of  the  Christ.  The  Pagan  says, 
*'  Let  them  be  cleansed  and  come  in " ;  Christ 
says,  "Let  them  come  in  and  be  cleansed." 
The  Pagan  says,  "Wash  your  stains  and  enter 
the  temple";  Christ  says,  "Enter  the  temple 
and  I  will  wash  your  stains."  The  Pagan  says, 
"Put  on  your  best  robe  and  repair  to  the 
banquet "  ;  Christ  says,  "  Repair  to  the  banquet, 
and  I  will  give  you  the  best  robe."  The  most 
unique    feature    of   Christ  is   His   claim   to   be 

7  ^ 


82   NEED  OF  PRELIMINARY  SHELTER 

"a  hiding  place  from  the  wind  and  a  covert 
from  the  tempest."  What  does  that  mean? 
Clearly  this,  that  He  will  take  you  in  before 
the  calm  comes.  He  does  not  say,  "  When  it 
is  fine  weather  I  will  visit  you."  No  ;  He  says, 
•*I  will  come  to  you  vv^licn  it  is  yet  wind  and 
rain ;  I  will  bring  a  canvas  tent,  and  shelter 
you."  Hundreds  will  come  out  to  you  when 
the  storm  has  ceased;  but  you  will  need  some- 
thing more  than  that.  Is  there  to  be  no  refuge 
in  the  storm !  Your  brother-man  is  waiting 
for  your  signs  of  good  character.  He  is  looking 
at  the  ship  tossing  on  the  sea ;  he  says,  "  When 
it  is  calm,  I  will  take  a  boat  and  bring  you 
in."  But  will  no  one  bring  the  boat  when  the 
wind  is  high  and  the  waves  are  rough  and  the 
tempest  is  roaring !  Will  no  one  enter  into 
your  life  when  it  is  battered  and  bruised  and 
broken !  Will  no  one  take  you  up  when  you 
are  disgraced  and  tabooed  and  scorned !  Will 
no  one  send  a  dove  into  your  deluge  while  yet 
the  peak  of  Ararat  is  unseen,  while  yet  the 
rainbow  is  undiscerned  in  the  sky !  One  alone 
has  trodden  that  winepress,  and  there  was  none 
of  the  people  with  Him — the  Perfectly  Sinless, 
the  Son  of  Man. 

Come  out  upon  my  sea,  O  Lord,  come  out 
upon  my  sea !  While  the  waters  are  still 
rolling,   while   the   tempest   still   is  high,  come 


NEED   OF  PRELIMINARY   SHELTER      83 

out  upon  my  sea !  Walk  upon  my  waters  while 
yet  they  are  troubled,  ere  ever  a  voice  has  said, 
"  Peace,  be  still " !  Unto  whom  can  I  call  but 
unto  Thee !  No  one  else  will  meet  me  in  the 
storm.  Plato  will  not ;  he  will  meet  only  calm 
souls.  Moses  will  not ;  his  Sinai  has  no  cleft 
for  the  uncleansed.  John  Baptist  will  not;  he 
cuts  down  all  trees  that  bear  no  fruit.  The 
voices  of  this  world  are  all  crying,  "Ye  that 
have  found  rest,  enter  into  the  kingdom ! "  But 
I  hear  another  voice,  a  unique  voice,  a  voice 
that  reaches  further  down  the  stream,  "  Come 
unto  Me  all  ye  that  labour,  and  I  will  give  you 
rest ! "  It  says,  "  Let  your  warrant  be  your 
want ;  let  your  claim  be  your  cloud ;  let  your 
right  be  your  wretchedness ;  let  your  token  of 
sonship  be  your  tossing  in  the  storm  ! "  It  calls 
to  me  in  my  cold ;  it  rings  to  me  in  my  rags  ; 
it  peals  to  me  in  my  poverty;  it  trills  to  me 
in  my  trespasses ;  it  kills  for  me  the  fatted  calf 
when  I  am  still  in  the  far  country.  Many 
voices  have  offered  me  a  home  for  my  quiet 
hours  ;  Thou  alone  hast  promised  me  a  covert 
in  my  storm. 


XXVIII 

THE   CHANGE  IN  RELIGIOUS 
ASPIRATIONS 

"  Oh  that  I  had  a  lodging    place  in  the  wilderness  1 " — 
Jer.  ix.  2. 

WHEN   I    read  the    words   of  Jeremiah   I 
always  think  of  the  familiar  lines  of  a 
Scottish  poet : — 

"  Bird  of  the  wilderness, 
Bhthesome  and  cumberless, 
Oh  to  abide  in  the  desert  with  thee  I " 

There  is  one  thing  common  to  both  utterances ; 
they  both  desire  solitude  for  the  sake  of  a  joy. 
When  Jeremiah  cries,  "  Oh  that  I  had  a  lodging 
place  in  the  wilderness ! "  he  is  not  seeking  the 
desert  because  of  its  pain.  This  has  been  the 
common  reason  for  the  seclusion  of  the  religious 
devotee — a  wish  to  endure  penance  for  his  sin. 
But  Jeremiah's  motive  is  the  reverse  of  this. 
He   wants   to   get    away  from   the   world   that 

81 


CHANGE  IN  RELIGIOUS  ASPIRATIONS    85 

he  may  enjoy  the  unobstructed  presence  of  God. 
Love  delights  to  be  alone  with  its  object.  If 
it  seeks  the  wilderness,  it  is  as  a  luxury.  Jere- 
miah desires  that  luxury.  The  desert  to  hira 
is  a  paradise,  because  he  thinks  of  it  as  a 
trysting-place  where  he  and  his  God  can  meet, 
alone.  Not  for  its  repulsiveness,  but  for  its 
attractiveness,  does  he  court  that  silent  hour. 
He  says,  "The  place  will  be  no  wilderness  to 
me.  The  love  of  my  heart  will  be  there.  There, 
far  from  the  din  of  men,  far  from  the  madding 
crowd,  I  shall  meet  Thee,  alone ;  and  the  wilder- 
ness shall  break  forth  into  singing  and  the 
desert  shall  rejoice  and  blossom  as  the  rose. 
Every  thorn  shall  seem  a  fir-tree,  every  briar 
shall  seem  a  myrtle-tree ;  the  lion  shall  appear 
as  a  lamb  and  the  leopard  as  a  kid.  For  my 
love  will  transform  my  visions,  and  my  heart 
will  make  all  things  new.  I  shall  forget  in  Thy 
rest  the  city's  roar.  I  shall  lose  on  Thy  breast 
life's  bustle.  I  shall  ignore  under  Thy  wing 
Time's  withering  hand.  The  conflict  will  be 
calmed.  The  vanities  will  be  vanquished.  The 
fashions  will  be  faded.  The  ambitions  will  be 
amputated.  The  desires  will  be  dead.  The 
cares  will  be  cancelled.  The  favour  of  men 
will  be  flouted.  When  I  meet  Thee  in  the  soli- 
tudes of  the  wilderness,  the  world  will  pass 
away." 


86    CHANGE  IN  RELIGIOUS  ASPIRATIONS 

And  yet,  my  soul,  Jeremiah's  cry  can  no  more 
be  thine.  Why  can  it  no  more  be  thine?  Is 
it  because  thy  love  has  grown  cold?  Is  it 
because  the  world  is  dearer  and  God  less 
precious  ?  Is  it  because  to  meet  face  to  face 
with  Him  is  no  longer  thy  heart's  joy?  Nay,  it 
is  none  of  these.  It  is  because  the  desert  is 
no  longer  the  place  of  meeting.  Once  my 
trysting-place  was  a  tree — the  symbol  of  rural 
loneliness ;  I  stood  under  Abraham's  oak  or 
Elijah's  juniper  leaves.  But  now  I  have  no 
need  to  seek  my  God  there.  The  rural  places 
are  no  longer  the  only  consecrated  places.  My 
God  has  gone  to  the  city — to  the  place  where 
the  concourse  flows ;  my  God  has  gone  to 
the  busy  mart — to  the  place  where  commerce 
grows ;  my  God  has  gone  to  the  schoolhouse 
— to  the  place  where  culture  sows.  My  God 
is  at  the  marriage  feast  where  Cana's  wine  is 
shed;  my  God  is  in  the  famished  crowd  where 
pity's  board  is  spread ;  my  God  is  with  the 
helpless  poor  with  no  roof  overhead.  He  waits 
for  me  in  the  songs  of  Galilee ;  He  waits  for 
me  in  the  tears  of  Bethany ;  He  waits  for 
me  in  the  crosses  of  Jerusalem.  Not  beside 
the  tree  but  beside  the  traffic  does  He  now  love 
best  to  dwell.  Not  in  the  forest  but  in  the  forum, 
not  in  the  solitude  but  in  the  street,  not  in 
the  void  but   in   the  vortex,  does   He  find  Hia 


CHANGE  IN  RELIGIOUS  ASPIRATIONS    87 

acceptable  year.  He  has  said,  "  Come  unto 
Me,  and  I  will  give  you  rest " ;  but  the  place 
where  He  shall  give  me  rest  is  not  in  the 
wilderness. 


XXIX 

THE    KEY   TO    PRACTICAL    SERVICE 

"  Then  the  Spirit  took  me  up  .  .  .  and  the  Lord  said  unto 
me,  Arise,  go  forth  into  the  plain,  and  I  wUl  there  talk  with 
thee."— EzBK.  iii.  12,  22. 

THE  words  seem  an  anti-climax ;  it  is  the 
rapturous  for  the  sake  of  the  common- 
place. The  Spirit  takes  Ezekiel  up  just  for  the 
purpose  of  sending  him  down.  He  is  lifted, 
first  of  all,  into  a  state  of  ecstasy.  He  is  put 
on  a  height — far  above  the  dust  and  din  of 
the  common  way ;  he  is  brought  into  the  imme- 
diate presence  of  God.  But  God  says  to  him, 
"  I  have  brought  you  up  here  just  to  tell  you 
that  this  is  not  the  place  for  our  communion, 
just  to  bid  you  go  down  into  the  plain  and  seek 
My  Presence  there."  One  asks,  "  Why  bring 
him  up  at  all !  Was  he  not  in  the  plain  origin- 
ally !  WTiy  tell  him  to  ascend  the  hill  for  the 
mere   purpose   of  resuming  the  spot  where  he 


THE   KEY   TO    PRACTICAL   SERVICE     89 

had  first  stood  ! "  But  do  you  not  see  the  extreme 
beauty  of  the  thought.  No  one  can  do  the 
duties  of  the  plain  till  he  has  had  a  breath 
of  the  mountain.  It  is  not  by  commonplace 
thought  that  we  perform  commonplace  duties ; 
it  is  by  high  and  noble  aspirations.  Do  you 
think  God  calls  Moses  up  to  the  mount  that 
he  may  live  on  the  mount.  No  ;  He  calls  him 
up  that  He  may  fit  him  for  level  ground.  He 
gives  him  a  breath  of  heaven  that  he  may  be 
able  to  teach  the  common  things  of  earth — to 
say,  "  Honour  your  father  and  mother,  do  not 
swear,  do  not  lie  nor  cheat  nor  kill."  It  seems 
a  lame  and  impotent  conclusion  for  the  sub- 
limities of  Sinai ;  but  it  is  not.  We  need 
morning  light  for  our  afternoon  labour.  It 
is  by  the  height  we  serve  the  plain ;  it  is  by  the 
love  of  heaven  we  do  the  work  of  earth ;  it  is 
by  the  inspiration  of  beauty  from  the  Pro- 
mised Land  that  we  tread  the  sands  of  the 
desert  w^ith  unstained  feet. 

Ye  whose  work  is  pre-eminently  on  the  plain, 
get  a  preliminary  glimpse  of  God  !  Come  up 
and  see  the  sunrise  ere  you  go  down  into  the 
toils  of  the  wilderness  !  Ye  who  labour  among 
the  sick,  come  first  to  the  top  of  the  hill ! — gaze 
on  the  mountain  glory  ere  you  seek  the  burdens 
of  the  day  !  Ye  who  labour  among  the  poor, 
come  first  to  the  top  of  the  hiU  ! — take  a  deep 


90    THE    KEY   TO   PRACTICAL   SERVICE 

draught  of  hope  ere  you  traverse  the  dena 
and  alleys  !  Ye  who  labour  among  the  lapsed, 
come  first  to  the  top  of  the  hill ! — get  a  sight 
of  human  possibilities  ere  you  tread  the  path 
of  tears  !  For  it  is  not  despair  that  nerves  you, 
ye  workers  in  waste  and  wilderness.  They 
among  whom  you  sojourn  may  be  sunk  in 
depravity,  dead  in  trespasses  and  sin ;  yet  it 
is  not  despair  that  nerves  you.  Paul  says  we 
are  saved  by  hope ;  yes,  and  we  save  others 
by  hope.  Ye  that  nurse  in  the  hospitals,  what 
is  it  you  see?  Is  it  the  dilapidated  form 
on  the  bed?  No,  it  is  the  resurrection  body — 
the  body  as  God  designed  it.  Ye  that  toil  in 
the  penitentiaries,  what  is  it  you  see  ?  Is  it  the 
depraved  soul  walking  amid  the  tombs  ?  No, 
it  is  the  soul  set  free — the  soul  as  God  painted 
it.  Never  lose  sight  of  the  Christ  when  you 
stand  in  Bethlehem's  manger  !  never  lose  sound 
of  the  music  when  you  watch  in  Bethlehem's 
night!  for  it  is  the  Christ  that  makes  the 
manger  bearable,  it  is  the  music  that  makes  the 
night  tolerable.  Beside  the  cradle  of  present 
impotence,  behold  the  treasures  laid  !  through 
the  night  of  lonely  watching,  hear  the  angels 
sing !  And  your  helpfulness  will  be  greater 
by  reason  of  the  glory  ;  your  watchfulness  will 
be  deeper  by  reason  of  the  song.  Hope,  and 
you  will  help ;   be  bright,    and  you   will   bear ; 


THE  KEY  TO  PRACTICAL   SERVICE    91 

enjoy  the  vision  of  triumph,  and  you  will  endure 
the  vale  of  tears.  They  who  have  mounted 
up  as  eagles  in  the  morning,  shall  in  the  after- 
noon walk  and  not  faint. 


XXX 

THE  ARREST    OF   PREMATURE    OLD-AGE 

•'  Her  sun  is  gone  down  while  it  was  yet  day." — Jbr.  rv.  9. 

THERE  is  a  sadness  about  all  premature 
things — even  where  the  thing  is  in  itself 
good.  I  do  not  think  that  the  spectacle  of  a 
precocious  child  is  quite  free  from  sadness.  Fair 
as  manhood  is,  and  much  as  we  desire  that  one 
day  the  child  should  become  a  man,  we  do  not 
like  to  see  a  premature  birth  of  the  man ;  it 
detracts  from  our  interest  in  the  child.  But 
if  even  with  bright  things  prematurity  repels, 
what  shall  we  say  of  sombre  things  !  If  we  do 
not  wish  to  see  a  meridian  sun  at  dawn,  what 
shall  we  say  of  beholding  the  evening  shades 
at  noonday  !  There  is  no  spectacle  so  sad  as 
premature  old-age.  When  I  speak  of  old-age,  I 
mean  the  age  of  the  spirit.  There  are  souls 
which  lose  their  youth  early  in  the  day.  There 
are  hearts  which  are  bereft  of  their  elastic 
spring  while  it  is  yet  morning.     It  need  not  be  a 


ARREST   OF   PREMATURE    OLD-AGE      93 

grief  which  causes  it ;  I  think  it  is  oftener  the 
failure  to  find  an  imaginary  joy.  Youth's  heart 
is  often  chilled  because  it  sees  not,  without,  the 
fairyland  which  it  feels  within.  It  is  rather 
disappointed  with  the  world  than  disappointed 
hy  the  world.  It  is  not  that  something  possessed 
is  broken ;  it  is  that  something  expected  has  not 
come.  The  cry  of  youth  is  not  "  They  have 
taken  away  my  Lord,  and  I  know^  not  w^here 
they  have  laid  Him  "  ;  it  is  rather  "  Where  is  the 
promise  of  His  coming  ! "  It  is  the  weeping, 
not  over  flowers  that  are  faded,  but  over  flowers 
that  never  bloomed.  That  is  the  sorrow  of 
youth,  the  care  of  youth,  the  tearfulness  of 
youth ;  it  is  that  which  often  makes  youth  old 
before  its  time. 

Lord,  save  the  young  from  this  danger  of  a 
premature  old-age  I  Thou  alone  canst  save  them, 
for  Thou  alone  canst  fulfil  their  dream.  Nature 
cannot  fulfil  their  dream ;  it  has  nothing  to 
correspond  to  their  high  ideal.  In  the  visions  of 
fancy  they  have  seen  a  form  of  perfect  beauty ; 
but  in  the  world  of  reality  they  have  sought  it 
in  vain.  It  is  not  reached  by  the  things  around 
them.  It  is  brighter  than  the  sun.  It  is  more 
to  be  desired  than  gold,  than  the  finest  gold.  It 
is  sweeter  than  the  honeycomb.  It  is  fairer 
than  the  children  of  men.  The  waking  world 
attains  not  the  glory  of  the  night  watches,  and 


94      ARREST  OF  PREMATURE   OLD-AGE 

youth  grows  old  amidst  it  because  she  misses 
her  dream.  But  Thou  canst  fulfil  that  dream,  O 
Lord ;  Thou  canst  reveal  to  youth  the  reality  of 
fancy's  picture.  Show  her  the  living  Christ ! 
Show  her  that  there  is  with  Thee  an  image 
which  is  altogether  lovely!  Show  her  that 
Thou  holdest  in  Thy  bosom  what  eye  hath  not 
seen  and  ear  hath  not  heard !  Tell  her  that 
Thou  canst  revive  her  drooping  flower!  Tell 
her  that  her  dream  was  no  delusion,  her  fancy 
no  fiction !  Tell  her  that  the  beautiful  image 
she  beheld  in  the  night  watches  was  no  phantom 
of  the  brain !  Tell  her  that  her  ideal  is  coTning, 
that  her  desire  will  be  satisfied !  She  wants  her 
romance  made  true  ;  if  she  found  it  true,  the 
white  locks  would  vanish  and  the  birds  would 
sing  again.  Vindicate  her  visions,  O  Lord ! 
Restore  the  romance  of  the  morning  !  Defend 
the  sanity  of  the  dream !  Reveal  the  reality 
of  that  music  which  ushered  in  her  day !  When 
she  sees  the  face  of  Christ  she  will  be  a  child 
once  more. 


XXXI 

THE  TEST  OF  OUR  HOPEFULNESS 


"  It  is  good  that  a  man  should  both  hope  and  quietly  wait 
for  the  salvation  of  the  Lord." — Lam.  iii.  26. 


WHAT  a  singular  combination — hope  and 
quiet  waiting !  It  is  like  a  union  of 
poetry  and  prose.  Does  it  not  seem  an  incon- 
gruous mixture  of  sentiments  !  We  associate 
hope  with  impulse  ;  quiet  waiting  is  surely  the 
want  of  impulse  !  Hope  is  a  state  of  flight ; 
waiting  implies  repose.  Hope  is  the  soul  on 
the  wing  ;  waiting  is  the  soul  in  the  nest. 
Hope  is  the  eagerness  of  expectancy ;  wait- 
ing is  a  condition  of  placid  calm.  Is  not 
that  a  strange  union  of  feelings  to  put  into 
one  breast  !  No  ;  it  is  a  sublimely  happy 
marriage — the  happiest  conceivable.  There 
is  no  test  of  hope  like  quiet  waiting.  If  you 
want  to  measure  the  strength  of  a  man's 
hope,  you  must  measure  the  quietness  of 
his  waiting.     Our   hope   is   never    so   weak    as 

95 


96    THE   TEST   OF   OUR   HOPEFULNESS 

when  we  are  excited.  I  have  seen  two  men  who 
were  engaged  in  the  same  cause,  and  who  were 
equally  bent  on  that  cause,  affected  quite  differ- 
ently in  an  argument.  The  one  was  fiery,  im- 
petuous, vehement,  tempted  to  lose  temper  and 
prompted  to  be  abusive  ;  the  other  was  calm, 
cool,  quiet,  disposed  to  be  deferential  and  inclined 
to  be  conciliatory.  Yet  the  second  was  the  man 
of  sure  hope.  He  was  calm  because  he  was  fear- 
less, he  was  silent  because  he  was  sanguine.  He 
had  seen  the  star  in  the  east  and  he  knew  it  was 
travelling  westward.  He  did  not  care  to  argue 
about  it,  to  protest  about  it,  to  lose  his  temper 
about  it.  He  "was  so  sure  of  its  coming  that 
he  w^as  willing  to  make  concessions.  He  could 
afford  to  be  gentle,  he  could  afford  to  be 
generous,  in  the  light  of  the  morning  star. 

Lord,  the  man  ^vho  saw  Thy  glory  in  Patmos 
was  the  man  who  slept  in  Thy  bosom.  So 
shall  it  be  with  me.  If  I  have  a  clear  vision  I 
shall  have  a  tranquil  temper.  I  do  not  wonder 
that  St.  John  became  so  gentle ;  the  quickened 
eye  makes  the  quiet  heart.     Open  Thy  heavens, 

0  Lord,  and  the  dove  will  come.  The  dove 
cannot  come  until  Thy  heavens  be  opened.  I 
see  a  storm  gathering  in  the  west ;  clouds  are 
drifting,  winds  are  rising,  birds  are  flying ;  my 
prospect   is   obscured    toward  the    setting   sun. 

1  hear  men    cry,  "  The  old   faith    is    vain,   the 


THE   TEST   OF   OUR   HOPEFULNESS     97 

old  promise  is  vain  ! "     I  am  wroth  with  these 
men ;    I    am  abusive ;    I    call   them   atheists ;    I 
hurl  anathemas  against  them.     Why  am  I  thus 
inflamed?     My    Christ,    it  is    because    I   myself 
doubt  of  Thee.     It  is  because  I  have  lost  sight 
of  Thy  bow    in   the   cloud,  of   Thine  anchor  in 
the  storm.     It  is  my  self-pity  makes  me  angry, 
it  is  my  hopelessness  makes  me  unquiet.    Unveil 
mine  eyes,  O  Lord  !    Give  me  a  glimpse  of  Thy 
glory !     Send   me   a   cluster   of    the   grapes    of 
Eshcol !   Let  me  have  one  view  from  the  heights 
of  Pisgah  !     Open  Thy  heaven  but  for  a  moment 
to  my  inner  sight !     Then  the  dove  will  come, 
mildness  will  come,  peace  will  come.     It  will  be 
with   me  as  it  was  with   Moses.  '  He  saw   the 
desert    illuminated    with    Thy    burning    bush ; 
therefore  he  was  the  meekest  of  men.     Illumi- 
nate my  desert,  and  I  too  shall  be  meek.     Make 
me  sure  of  Thee,  and  I  shall  cease  to  strive  or 
cry.     Establish  mine  own  heart,  and  I  shall  be 
gentle  with  my  brother.     Light  my  candle  with- 
in, and  I  shall  be  tender  to  the  mists  without. 
Conviction   will  calm  me  ;  certitude  will  soften 
me ;  the  rays  of  the  morning  will  mellow  me ; 
the   charm   of   a    cloudless    soul   will    give   me 
charity.     I  shall  love  my  brother  better  when  I 
see   my   Father   nearer.     Thou   shalt   keep    the 
man  in  perfect  peace  whose  hope  is  stayed  on 
Thee. 

8 


XXXII 

THE    HIGHEST    VIEW    OF  GOD'S 
GOVERNMENT 


"  The  light  shmeth  in  darkness,  and  the  darkness  compre- 
hended it  not." — John  i.  5. 


IS  there  any  greater  comfort  than  the  faith 
in  an  overruling  Providence  ?  Is  there 
any  higher  satisfaction  possible  to  a  human 
mind  than  the  belief  that  God  will,  some  day, 
scatter  our  darkness  and  shine  forth  resplen- 
dent? Yes  ;  there  is  possible  a  higher  comfort 
than  that — the  comfort  of  knowing  that  the 
darkness  is  itself  God's  shining.  There  is  one 
thing  better  than  an  overruling  Providence,  and 
that  is  a  ruling  Providence — a  Providence  in 
whose  government  there  is  nothing  to  be  over- 
ruled. That  is  the  Bible  view  of  God.  The 
popular  idea  of  Divine  love  is  that  it  is  some- 
thing which  will  ultimately  conquer  the  clouds. 
The  Bible's  thought  is  much  more  drastic  ;  it  is 

that  Divine  love   "reacheth  unto  the  clouds," 

98 


VIEW  OF  GOD'S   GOVERNMENT       99 

that  there  is  "  no  night  there."  The  Bible 
doctrine  is  not  that  God's  child  will  be  recom- 
pensed in  heaven  for  his  losses  on  earth.  It  is 
that  what  on  earth  appears  a  loss  has  in  heaven 
the  aspect  of  a  gain — just  as  night  in  one  hemi- 
sphere makes  morning  in  the  other.  The  column 
of  deaths  here  is  a  column  of  births  yonder. 
The  interrupted  work  here  is  a  fresh  energy 
yonder.  Seeming  accident  here  is  result  of  law 
yonder.  Incapacitating  pain  here  is  promotion  to 
service  yonder.  Doors  shut  here  are  doors  open 
yonder.  Weights  impeding  here  make  wings 
for  our  sympathy  yonder.  Narrow  lanes  here 
enlarge  our  field  yonder.  Seasons  of  condolence 
here  are  times  of  congratulation  yonder.  It  is 
not  that  earth's  night  is  heaven's  day — that 
while  I  am  in  silence  the  angels  are  in  music : 
that  would  be  but  a  poor  solace.  It  is  that  to 
the  light  of  heaven  earth's  night  is  earth's  day — 
that  my  shadows  are  shining,  that  my  silence 
is  vocal,  that  my  discord  is  music,  that  my 
burdens  are  burnished  with  gold.  The  darkness 
is  light. 

Lord,  I  should  not  like  to  think  that  to  any 
child  of  Thine  this  world  is  a  battle  between 
cloud  and  sunshine.  It  is  not  enough  for  me  to 
believe  that  one  day  Thou  shalt  say,  "Let  there 
be  light ! "  No,  my  Father,  rather  would  I  have 
my  solace  to  be,  "  This  is  the  day  the  Lord  hath 


100      VIEW  OF  GOD'S   GOVERNMENT 

made ;  we  will  rejoice  and  be  glad  in  it." 
When  I  stand  under  the  cloud,  I  would  feel 
that  to  other  eyes,  to  Thine  eyes,  the  cloud 
itself  is  clearness.  I  would  feel  that  the  cloud  is 
a  part  of  the  Transfiguration  glory,  that  my 
shadoT^^  is  another's  sunshine,  that  my  night  is 
Thy  morning.  I  would  feel  that  even  while  the 
rain  is  on  the  river  the  sun  is  on  the  hill.  I 
would  feel  that  there  are  showers  that  belong  to 
the  shining,  mists  which  are  appropriate  to  the 
morning,  minor  chords  which  are  inseparable 
from  melodious  cadence.  I  cannot  rest  in  a  love 
to  come,  in  a  light  to  come.  I  cannot  believe 
in  the  suspension  of  Thy  music,  in  the  silence  of 
Thy  voice.  Sometimes  in  the  dense  darkness  I 
lie  down  to  sleep  in  what  I  deem  a  trackless 
desert.  Men  say,  "  God  will  bring  thee  home 
to-morrow."  Nay,  my  Father,  rather  do  I  hope 
that,  when  I  wake  to-morrow,  I  shall  find  that 
all  the  night  I  have  been  lying  at  Thy  palace 
door. 


XXXIII 
THE    SECRET   OF   REVERENT   RESEARCH 

"  They  shall  ask  the  way  to  Zion  with  their  faces  thither- 
ward."— Jer.  1.  5. 

ONE  is  inclined  to  say,  Why  insert  the  words, 
"  with  their  faces  thitherward  "  ?  If  they 
had  to  ask  the  way  to  Zion,  what  did  it  matter 
in  which  direction  their  faces  were  turned  mean- 
time ?  I  answer,  it  mattered  very  greatly.  The 
value  of  a  man's  search  for  truth  depends  very 
much  on  the  direction  in  which  his  look  is 
turned.  Religious  research  may  or  may  not  be 
a  valuable  thing ;  it  depends  on  the  mental 
attitude  of  the  inquirer.  In  the  opening  of  St. 
Matthew's  Gospel  there  are  two  inquiries  made 
concerning  the  birth  of  Jesus.  The  wise  men 
ask,  "  Where  is  He  that  is  born  King  of  the 
Jews  ?  "  Herod  "  inquired  diligently  what  time 
the  star  appeared."  Where  lay  the  difference? 
Just  in  the  direction  of  their  faces.  The  wise 
men  were  seeking  Jesus  that  they  might  worship 

101 


102    SECRET  OF   REVERENT  RESEARCH 

Him;  Herod  was  seeking  Jesus  that  he  might 
destroy  Him.  In  the  hour  of  your  investigations, 
consider  carefully  whither  your  face  is  turned — 
toward  Zion  or  away  from  Zion  ;  it  makes  all  the 
difference  in  the  w^orld.  Do  you  wish  to  find 
blots  or  do  you  wish  to  erase  blots  ?  You  cannot 
even  be  impartial  in  your  search.  The  book  into 
whose  genuineness  you  inquire  has  a  photograph 
on  the  front  page — a  face  of  exceeding  beauty 
and  compelling  power.  If  you  have  any  eye  for 
loveliness,  you  must  begin  the  study  with  that 
picture  in  your  soul.  I  am  told  that  a  judge 
should  be  impartial.  In  matters  of  land,  yes  ;  in 
matters  of  character,  no.  In  a  criminal  trial  I 
would  have  the  judge  assume  the  veracity  of  the 
prisoner  till  the  facts  have  disproved  it.  So 
should  it  be  with  you  in  your  trial  of  the  Bible. 
Assume  its  veracity  till  the  facts  disprove  it 
The  Psalmist  had  a  twofold  wish — "  to  behold 
the  beauty  of  the  Lord,  and  to  inquire  in  His 
tabernacle " ;  but  the  beholding  of  the  beauty 
came  first,  the  inquiry  afterwards  ;  and  verily  he 
was  right.  Go  and  do  thou  likewise.  Begin  by 
looking  at  the  picture.  Meet  Christ  at  the  door 
of  the  tabernacle.  Let  Christ  precede  criticism. 
Let  the  gaze  precede  the  grammar.  Let  the  love 
precede  the  learning.  Let  the  song  precede  the 
science.  Let  the  heart  precede  the  histoiy.  Let 
the  prayer  precede  the  probing.     Let  the  spirit 


SECRET   OF  REVERENT  RESEARCH    103 

precede  the  scrutiny.     Ask  by  all  means  the  way 
to  Zion ;  but  ask  with  your  face  thitherward. 

Lord,  do  not  judge  me  by  what  I  find,  but  by 
what  I  wish  to  find  !  I  am  still  asking  my  way. 
There  are  still  clouds  and  darkness  round  about 
me  ;  I  have  not  seen  the  King  in  His  strength. 
But  I  have  seen  the  King  in  His  beauty.  I  have 
gazed  on  the  picture  of  Jesus  on  the  front  leaf  of 
my  Bible  ;  and  I  am  in  love  vs^ith  that  picture.  I 
am  eager  to  meet  its  original.  I  stretch  my 
hands  and  cry,  "  O  that  I  could  find  Him  !  "  My 
heart  has  outrun  my  experience ;  it  has  entered 
first  into  the  empty  tomb.  My  reason  is  still 
asking  its  way  to  the  sepulchre ;  but  my  heart 
is  already  bringing  spices.  My  reason  is  still 
inquiring  for  the  manger ;  but  my  heart  has 
already  seen  the  star.  My  reason  is  still  in  the 
wilderness ;  but  my  heart  is  already  on  the 
mount.  My  reason  is  still  tossing  on  the  sea ; 
but  my  heart  is  already  sleeping  in  the  haven. 
My  reason  is  still  climbing  the  Dolorous  Way ; 
but  my  heart  already  cries,  "  It  is  finished  ! "  My 
reason  wrestles  for  the  daybreak ;  but  my  heart 
is  already  leaping  over  Peniel.  My  reason 
searches  vainly  for  the  risen  Christ  in  Jeru- 
salem ;  but  my  heart  has  already  gone  before  it 
into  Galilee,  and  there  it  has  seen  the  Lord.  I 
have  not  yet  reached  Zion ;  but  my  face  is 
thitherward. 


XXXIV 

THE  PRAYER  THAT  FOLLOWS  ITS 
ANSWER 

"  Before  they  call,  I  will  answer." — Isa.  Ixv.  24. 

THERE  is  a  region  of  prayer  in  which  th© 
gift  conies  before  the  request  for  it.  The 
popular  notion  is  that  we  first  ask  a  thing  and 
then  get  it.  But  in  truth,  with  all  spiritual 
desires,  it  is  just  the  opposite ;  we  first  get  a 
thing  and  then  ask  it.  When  a  man  prays  for 
material  comforts  his  request  precedes  his  pos- 
session. But  when  he  prays  for  spiritual  com- 
forts his  possession  precedes  his  request.  There 
is  a  thirst  Tvhich  is  really  created  by  its  partial 
gratification.  When  you  cry  for  physical  w^ater 
it  is  because  you  are  in  want  of  water.  But 
when  you  cry  for  the  water  of  life  it  is  because 
you  have  already  tasted  of  the  fountain  ;  God  has 
answered  you  before  your  call.  The  thirst  for 
earthly  water  comes  from  parched  lips  ;  but  the 
thirst  for  God  comes  from  lips  already  moistened, 

104 


PRAYER  THAT   FOLLOWS   ANSWER    105 

That  is  what  makes  the  hunger  after  righteous- 
ness a  blessed  thing.  It  can  only  come  from 
possession.  God  alone  can  cry  for  God  ;  heaven 
alone  can  desire  heaven ;  goodness  alone  can 
crave  goodness.  There  are  prayers  whose  arrow 
is  sped,  not  by  the  rainbow  of  night,  but  by  the 
rainbow  of  morning.  They  are  shot  forth,  not 
by  the  empty,  but  by  the  full,  hand.  My  prayers 
for  Christ  are  like  the  murmur  of  the  shell ;  they 
are  the  voice  of  the  parent  sea  within  me.  Their 
cry  is  a  memory.  They  are  not  so  much  in 
search  of  something  new  as  in  touch  with  some- 
thing old.  They  are  not  voices  of  my  poverty, 
but  of  my  wealth.  They  are  not  winged  by  the 
famine  of  the  far  country,  but  by  the  music  and 
dancing  of  the  Father's  house.  Without  the 
memory  of  that  home  all  the  scarcity  of  the 
swine-husks  would  never  have  evoked  the  cry, 
'*  I  will  arise,  and  go  to  my  Father." 

Lord,  I  am  longing  for  Thee,  and  thereby  I 
know  that  I  have  found  Thee.  I  could  not  call 
on  Thee  unless  Thine  answer  had  already  come. 
I  shrink  from  my  crimson  stains ;  but  it  is  Thy 
light  that  has  revealed  them.  I  never  should 
have  known  the  famine  unless  I  had  tasted  Thy 
bread.  The  land  has  not  really  become  more 
destitute ;  it  is  I  who  have  grown  more  exacting. 
There  was  as  much  famine  yesterday,  and  I 
never  felt  it.     Why  do  I  feel  it  to-day?     It  is 


lOa    PRAYER  THAT  FOLLOWS  ANSWER 

because  I  have  tasted  Thy  bread.  I  never  spoke 
of  swine-husks  until  then.  I  learned  my  thirst 
from  a  cluster  of  the  grapes  of  Eshcol.  I  learned 
my  hunger  from  Thy  manna  in  the  wilderness. 
I  learned  my  rags  from  the  sight  of  Thy  seam- 
less robe.  It  is  not  my  prayer  that  has  brought 
Thine  answer ;  it  is  Thine  answer  that  has 
brought  my  prayer.  I  did  not  feel  my  darkness 
until  I  saw  upon  Thy  hand  the  glittering  ring — 
^he  ring  prepared  for  me.  I  did  not  fear  the 
silence  until  I  heard  upon  the  height  the  strains 
of  merry  music — the  music  meant  for  me.  I  did 
not  experience  the  shame  until  I  caught  on  the 
brow  of  morning  the  far-off  gaze  of  Thy  pur- 
suing eye — the  eye  that  sparkled  for  me.  That 
is  why  my  prayer  is  precious  in  Thy  sight.  Thou 
seest  not  its  poverty  but  its  promise,  Thou  be- 
holdest  not  its  sackcloth  but  its  gold  ;  for  the  cry 
has  come  from  a  head  that  is  crowned,  and  the 
humility  has  been  wakened  by  the  summit  of 
the  hill. 


XXXV 

THE   SERVICE   RENDERED   BY  DEATH 

"  Precious  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord  is  the  death  of  Hia 
saints.  O  Lord,  truly  I  am  Thy  servant ;  Thou  hast  loosed 
my  bonds." — Psa.  cxvi.  15,  16. 

I  HAVE  a  peculiar  idea  as  to  the  meaning 
of  this  psalm.  It  is  popularly  thought  to 
be  a  psalm  of  thanksgiving  for  recovery  from 
sickness.  But  why,  then,  should  the  restored 
man  break  into  the  rapturous  cry,  "  Precious  in 
the  sight  of  the  Lord  is  the  death  of  His 
saints "  !  Is  this  not  an  incongruous  utterance 
in  a  thanksgiving  for  recovery — in  a  thanks- 
giving for  the  averting  of  death  ?  I  think  it 
is ;  and  therefore  I  do  not  believe  that  the 
psalm  is  a  thanksgiving  for  such  recovery.  I 
think  it  is  an  attempt  to  depict  the  idea  of  a 
man's  recovery  not  on  this,  but  on  the  other, 
side  of  death.  It  is  an  imagination  of 
immortality   preceding    the    revelation    of    im- 

107 


108     SERVICE   RENDERED   BY  DEATH 

mortality.  The  writer  conceives  himself  to 
have  waked  from  his  sleep  of  exhaustion  in  a 
new  and  revived  Jerusalem — to  have  waked 
strong  and  well,  renovated  from  fatigue  and 
loosed  from  his  old  bonds  of  infirmity.  He 
conceives  himself  to  be  looking  back  upon  his 
former  state — on  the  days  when  he  was  bowed 
down  by  the  weakness  of  the  flesh.  He  had 
expected  that  death  would  be  the  culmination 
of  that  weakness.  To  his  astonishment  he  finds 
that  death  has  been  his  deliverance — that  in- 
stead of  being  a  prison-house,  it  has  loosed  his 
bonds  and  set  the  prisoner  free.  It  has 
emancipated  him,  disencumbered  him,  given 
him  Tvings.  It  has  made  him  a  more  useful 
servant  to  the  Almighty,  more  capable  of  work, 
more  profitable  for  labour.  It  has  given  to 
God  an  army  of  invigorated  souls,  stronger  to 
fight  and  hardier  to  bear;  and,  looking  upon 
heaven's  gain,  the  Psalmist  cries,  "Precious  in 
the  sight  of  the  Lord  is  the  death  of  His 
saints." 

My  soul,  there  is  no  more  frequent  plaint  of 
thine  than  thy  dirge  over  the  departed  great. 
Thy  cry  is,  "  To  what  purpose  is  this  waste ! " 
The  Psalmist  thinks  it  is  a  redeeming  from 
waste — a  gain  to  the  harvest-field  of  God.  I 
have  often  heard  thee  say,  "  If  God  spares  me." 
Hast  thou  analysed  these  words?     If  a  servant 


SERVICE   RENDERED    BY  DEATH     109 

asks  to  be  absent  from  household  duties,  we 
say,  "I  will  spare  you  for  a  few  days" — submit 
to  the  want  for  a  few  days.  When  God  spares 
a  good  servant  He  submits  to  a  want.  He  is 
in  need  of  all  ministering  spirits  yonder.  The 
harvest  to  be  reaped  is  plenteous,  but  the 
labourers  are  few.  It  is  not  every  redeemed 
life  that  is  fit  to  be  a  ministering  spirit.  There 
are  hosts  among  the  saved  who  are  not  ready 
to  be  angels.  Millions  can  serve  by  day ;  but 
they  who  "serve  day  and  night"  must  have 
come  out  of  great  tribulation — washed  their 
robes  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb.  Hast  thou 
ever  pondered  the  words,  "Pray  the  Lord  of 
the  harvest  that  He  will  send  labourers  into 
His  harvest."  Hast  thou  ever  considered  that 
the  answer  to  that  prayer  may  be  just  the 
death  of  the  saint — the  very  thing  which  makes 
thee  think  the  prayer  denied.  Hast  thou  ever 
reflected  that  there  is  less  mystery  in  the  death 
of  the  good  than  in  the  death  of  the  ignoble. 
There  is  a  cry  from  the  Macedonia  of  God 
•'  Come  over  and  help  us  ! "  There  is  a  cry  from 
the  eternal  sea,  "  Send  men  to  Joppa  ! " — men 
who  can  embark  upon  the  deep  and  breast  the 
waves.  Forget  not  the  labourers  hired  at 
the  eleventh  hour — the  hour  thou  callest  death  ! 
Think  not  that  these  have  escaped  the  burden 
and  the  heat ! — they  are  called  to  a  weightier 


110    SERVICE   RENDERED  BY  DEATH 

burden  and  a  heat  more  potent.  There  are 
myriads  who  enter  the  fields  where  thy  Father's 
seed  is  sown,  but  methinks  the  most  precious 
in  His  sight  are  they  who  enter  by  the  valley 
of  the  shadow. 


XXXVI 

THE  HELP  OF  BEAUTY  TO  GOODNESS 

"  The  light  of  the  body  is  the  eye.  If,  therefore,  thine 
eye  be  single,  thy  whole  body  shall  be  full  of  light." — 
Matt.  vi.  22. 

OUR  Lord  says  that  when  a  man  looks  at 
the  sunshine  it  is  not  only  his  eye  that 
is  affected;  his  whole  body  is  influenced  by 
the  light.  His  pulse  is  quickened,  his  blood  is 
accelerated,  his  step  is  lightened,  his  arm  is 
strengthened,  his  voice  is  vivified.  Even  so, 
Christ  says  that  in  the  moral  world  every- 
thing depends  on  what  a  man  looks  at — his 
ideal.  He  says  that  the  great  question  is, 
What  is  that  picture  of  heroism  which  you 
have  set  before  your  inward  eye  ?  He  exclaims 
in  effect,  "It  is  no  use  to  lay  down  rules  of 
morality.  What  is  your  model  of  perfection, 
your  ideal  of  beauty,  your  standard  of  excellence? 
— everything   depends  on  that.     If  you  admire 


112      HELP   OF   BEAUTY   TO   GOODNESS 

that  which  is  really  noble,  the  picture  before 
the  eye  will  permeate  the  whole  life  ;  if  you 
admire  that  w^hich  is  mean  and  debasing,  the 
picture  before  the  eye  will  corrupt  the  entire 
nature.  Show  me  what  a  man  is  looking  at, 
and  I  will  show  you  what  his  life  will  be.  Tell 
me  his  favourite  author,  his  favourite  artist, 
his  favourite  pleasure,  and  I  will  tell  you  where 
his  sti'ength  or  weakness  lies.  Bring  him  into 
a  room  crowded  with  pictures  and  watch  where 
his  eye  first  lights  and  longest  lingers  ;  there 
will  his  heart  be  also.  It  is  in  the  direction 
of  the  eye  that  you  must  seek  the  aim  of  the 
life." 

Beware,  ye  mothers  and  teachers,  how  ye 
furnish  the  halls  of  fancy  !  Beware  what  ideal 
you  suggest  to  the  admiration  of  the  child ! 
Do  not  point  to  Cain  and  say,  "  I  have  gotten 
a  man  from  the  Lord "  !  if  to  the  young  eye 
you  make  Cain  a  hero,  you  will  soon  to  the 
young  heart  make  violence  heroic.  Do  not 
point  to  a  physical  conqueror  and  say,  "  That 
is  the  Messiah " !  if  the  power  that  crushes 
becomes  beautiful,  it  will  ere  long  seem  dutiful. 
Do  not  point  to  a  covetous  man  and  say, 
"There  goes  just  Lot"!  if  you  make  selfishness 
an  ideal,  it  will  soon  become  a  practice.  Point 
the  child  to  the  greatness  of  some  things 
deemed    foolish !     Point    him    to    the    Man    of 


HELP   OF   BEAUTY   TO   GOODNESS      113 

Calvary  and  say,  "  What  a  strength  was  there  "  / 
Show  him  the  sacredness  of  sacrifice,  the  power 
of  pity,  the  kingliness  of  being  kind !  Tell  him 
that  there  may  be  an  infancy  over  which  the 
angels  sing,  hours  of  childhood  which  are 
"about  the  Father's  business,"  days  of  tender 
youth  in  which  the  very  heavens  are  opened, 
seasons  of  wilderness  want  which  are  them- 
selves the  ministration  of  God,  moments  of 
death  in  which  a  soul  has  saved  the  world ! 
Reveal  to  him  the  majesty  of  the  manger 
and  the  coronation  of  the  Cross !  My  Christ 
must  be  crowned  ere  I  can  serve  Him — 
crowned  beforehand,  crowned  to  the  eye.  In 
vain  you  will  point  to  Calvary  if  you  teach 
me  first  that  self-surrender  is  a  shameful  thing. 
In  vain  you  will  cry,  "  Follow  Jesus  ! "  if  you 
have  impressed  me  with  the  notion  that  meek- 
ness is  cowardice,  that  mercy  is  weakness,  that 
purity  is  effeminate,  that  grief  is  unmanly, 
that  peacemaking  is  unheroic.  You  must  guide 
the  eye  ere  you  guide  the  steps.  Before  you 
preach  Christ,  crown  Him  Lord  of  all !  Wreath 
Calvary  with  flowers !  Fill  Gethsemane  with 
music !  Strew  the  Dolorous  Way  with  palm- 
leaves  !  Write  in  golden  letters  the  old  old 
story !  Let  it  appeal  first  to  the  eye,  to  the 
admiration !  Encircle  its  clouds  with  a  rain- 
bow ;  let  its  tears,  even  while  they  fall,  glitter 

i) 


114   HELP  OF  BEAUTY  TO  GOODNESS 

in  the  sun !  Let  the  Star  of  Bethlehem  lead 
me  up  the  heights  of  Golgotha !  You  will 
imprint  Christ  upon  my  life  when  you  have 
made  Him  beautiful  to  my  eye. 


XXXVII 
THE  MERCY  OF  GOD 

"  I  will  not  execute  the  fierceness  of  Mine   anger,  for  I 
am  God,  and  not  man." — Hos.  xi.  9. 

THIS  is  a  saying  veiy  unique,  very  original, 
very  sublime.  It  is  the  utterance  which 
of  all  others  we  should  have  least  expected — 
least  expected  even  from  the  prophet  himself. 
He  has  been  expressing  in  the  loudest  terms 
his  sense  of  the  Divine  horror  of  sin.  He  has 
been  putting  into  the  lips  of  God  the  most 
withering,  the  most  scathing  denunciations  of 
surrounding  evil.  And  the  sequel  we  look  for 
is,  "I  will  utterly  destroy  these  wicked  men, 
and  will  sweep  away  their  name  and  their 
remembrance."  Instead  of  that,  we  have  the 
startling  conclusion,  "  I  will  not  execute  the 
fierceness  of  Mine  anger,  for  I  am  God,  and 
not  man."  I  say,  startling,  for  a  sudden  calm 
is  as  startling   as   a   sudden   storm.     The  wind 

116 


116  THE   MERCY   OF  GOD 

has  been  rising  to  a  climax,  climbing  step  by 
step  the  ladder  of  indignation.  All  at  once,  it 
drops.  It  does  not  subside,  it  does  not  soften, 
it  does  not  moderate  its  fury ;  it  goes  down 
altogether — in  a  moment,  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye.  In  India  the  night  passes  into 
day  without  a  twilight;  here  God's  frown 
passes  instantaneously  into  a  smile.  And  the 
strangest  thing  of  all  is  the  reason  for 
the  lenity — "For  I  am  God,  and  not  man." 
One  would  think  this  a  reason  for  a  more 
drastic  sentence.  The  natural  view  is,  if  even 
the  blunted  conscience  of  your  brother  man 
condemns  you  to  death,  much  more  must  an 
all-holy  God.  Not  thus  says  Hosea.  To  him 
the  strongest  is  the  gentlest,  the  purest  is  the 
most  pitying.  And  he  is  so,  just  because  he 
most  condemns  the  disease,  most  feels  its 
virulence,  most  sees  its  ravages.  Your  brother 
man  overestimates  your  power  of  resistance ; 
he  has  less  sense  of  sin's  horror.  To  the 
eye  of  Divine  Love  sin  has  crippled  even 
your  power  of  will ;  and  Divine  Love  pities 
you. 

Unto  whom,  then,  shall  I  go  but  unto  Thee ! 
My  brother  has  no  place  for  the  leper ;  he 
sends  him  out  among  the  tombs.  I  thought 
at  first  that  my  chance  would  lie  with  my 
brother.     I  said,  "He  is  man,  he  is  human,  he 


THE  MERCY   OF   GOD  117 

has  a  common  frailty ;  he  will  remember  that 
I  am  dust."  I  have  found  my  mistake,  O 
Lord.  I  have  found  that  there  is  no  hope 
but  in  the  highest.  My  pardon  has  come 
from  the  only  quarter  which  I  deemed  im- 
possible— the  sinless.  My  hope  was  in  the 
sinner.  I  expected  great  things  from  the 
touch  of  a  hand  that  was  soiled  and  the 
compassion  of  a  heart  that  ^vas  itself  impure. 
I  hoped  great  things  from  Simon  Peter,  who 
himself  had  passed  through  the  sea  and  ex- 
perienced the  strength  of  the  wave.  But 
when  Peter  came  to  Antioch,  he  kept  aloof 
from  me ;  he  pretended  that  he  did  not  see 
me.  The  waves  of  the  Sea  of  Galilee  had 
washed  him  too  clean  to  be  any  longer  a  fit 
companion  for  me.  But  Thou  camest  to  me, 
O  Lord — Thou  of  the  burning  purity,  Thou  of 
the  spotless  spirit !  Thou  camest  to  me — when 
human  friend  forsook,  when  earthly  comrade 
crept  away !  Thou  camest — when  no  man 
would  give  me  even  swine-husks,  when  my 
brother  denied  me  the  music  and  the  dance  ! 
Thou  camest  with  the  robe  and  the  welcome 
— through  fire  and  flood,  through  storm  and 
stress,  through  mist  and  mire,  through  desert 
and  death  !  Thou  camest  to  my  cloud 
on  the  transfiguration  mount !  All  others 
vanished    when    they    saw    my    cloud — Moses, 


118  THE  MERCY  OF  GOD 

Elias,  Peter,  James,  John ;  I  "  saw  no  man 
but  Jesus  only " !  Henceforth,  in  all  this 
mountain,  I  will  build  no  tabernacle  but  to 
Thee  I 


XXXVIII 
GOD'S  PROMISE   OF  THE   CLOUD 


"  The    shadow    of     a    great    rock    in   a     weary    land." — 
IsA.  xxxii.  2. 


GOD  is  cominonly  represented  as  a  light  to 
the  soul ;  here  He  is  represented  as  a 
shadow  to  the  soul.  This  latter  experience  is 
one  which  we  do  not  often  think  of.  We  are 
quite  familiar  with  prayers  for  the  sunshine. 
We  say  constantly,  "  Rise  upon  our  night, 
Thou  better  Sun,  and  let  the  clouds  melt 
before  Thy  glory ! "  But  we  are  not  in  the 
habit  of  saying,  "  O  Thou  Divine  Cloud,  grant 
us  a  moment  of  Thy  shadow ;  come  and  shade 
us  from  the  glare  and  glitter  of  the  garish 
day ! "  Such  a  prayer  would  be  deemed  very 
original,  perhaps  very  unsuitable.  And  yet 
there  are  times  in  which  man  needs  nothing 
so  much  as  a  withdrawal  of  lights.  There  are 
times  in  which  the  only  chance  for  a  human 
soul  is  the  pulling  down  of  the  window-blinds. 

U9 


120     GOD'S   PROMISE   OF   THE   CLOUD 

There  is  a  pecviliarity  in  the  law  of  Divine 
optics.  We  pray,  "  Enlighten  our  eyes ! "  but 
often  we  can  only  get  our  inner  eye  en- 
lightened by  having  the  outer  eye  shaded. 
Is  the  soul  never  to  get  moments  for  repose 
— for  meditation,  self -reflection !  Is  it  never 
to  have  an  hour  all  to  itself — an  hour 
when  its  doors  are  shut,  when  its  windows 
are  covered,  when  its  outside  voices  are 
hushed,  when  it  is  untouched  by  the  heat  of 
the  day !  God  says,  "  Yes,  it  shall  have  such 
moments "  ;  and  He  prepares  a  place  for  it  in 
the  wilderness.  He  stops  me  midway  in  the 
race.  He  lays  His  hand  upon  me,  and  I  fall. 
He  bears  me  into  the  silence,  into  the  soli- 
tude. He  puts  the  multitude  all  out,  and 
locks  the  door.  He  closes  the  shutters  of  the 
casement.  He  interrupts  the  music  in  the 
street ;  He  forbids  the  dancing  in  the  hall. 
He  says,  "Your  nerves  are  weary  with  excite- 
ment; in  this  desert  place  you  shall  rest 
awhile." 

O  Lord  my  God,  have  I  ever  thanked  Thee 
for  the  shadow ;  have  I  ever  said  with  the 
Psalmist,  "The  Lord  is  the  shade  on  my  right 
hand,  therefore  the  sun  will  not  smite  me  by 
day,  neither  the  moon  by  night " !  Alas,  my 
Father,  mine  has  been  the  opposite  fear;  I 
am  afraid  of  being   smitten  by  the  absence  of 


GOD'S   PROMISE   OF  THE   CLOUD      121 

the  sun,  by  the  absence  of  the  moon.  I  have 
never  realised  the  healing  power  of  the 
shadow.  I  have  been  praying,  "  Lead,  kindly 
Light ! "  all  the  time  Thou  wert  giving  the 
command,  "  Lead,  kindly  Shade ! "  It  never 
occurred  to  me  that  there  could  be  an  under- 
ground railway.  I  thought  myself  buried 
alive,  cut  off  from  all  work  beneath  the  sun. 
And  lo,  my  shadow  was  my  substance !  When 
I  thought  I  was  losing  time,  I  was  travelling 
with  unwonted  speed.  It  was  under  the 
shadow  I  met  Thee.  When  I  came  out  men 
saw  a  change.  They  said,  "Adversity  has 
humbled  him."  They  were  wrong ;  it  had 
heightened  me.  I  never  knew  the  greatness 
of  my  soul  till  I  felt  the  weakness  of  my 
body.  On  my  bed  of  sickness  conscience 
woke.  In  my  hour  of  silence  Heaven  spoke. 
In  my  day  of  darkness  Thy  light  broke.  I 
never  knew  my  immortality  till,  behind  the 
curtains  drawn,  I  felt  my  sin.  It  was  the 
shadow  taught  me  immortality.  The  sunshine 
said,  "  The  building  is  complete  ;  why  look  for 
a  to-morrow  ! "  But  the  shadow  said,  "  You 
are  unfinished  ;  there  is  a  tower  wanting ; 
there  is  something  to  come."  The  sunshine 
cried,  "  You  are  satisfied  on  earth ;  earth  is 
your  portion."  But  the  shadow  murmured, 
"  Your    powers    are    unfilled    here ;  you    wait 


122     GOD'S  PROMISE  OF  THE   CLOUD 

a  wider  field."  The  sunshine  sang,  "  This  is 
the  day  the  Lord  hath  made."  But  the 
shadow  whispered,  "The  end  is  not  yet;  there 
remaineth  a  rest  to  the  people  of  God."  Thy 
shadow,  O  Lord,  has  heen  better  than  man's 
light. 


XXXIX 

THE    SELF-INTEREST    OF  BEING    GOOD 

"  If  thou  hadst  known  the   things  which  belong  tmto  thy 
peace  !  " — Luke  xix.  42. 

"  r  I  iHE  things  which  belong  unto  thy  peace  " — 
-J-  is  not  this  rather  an  inversion  of  the 
common  idea  ?  I  have  been  accustomed  to  think 
of  religious  duties  as  things  which  belong  to 
God's  peace.  I  have  been  in  the  habit  of 
thinking  that  religion  is  my  penance,  my  pros- 
tration, my  humiliation — that  it  is  my  punish- 
ment meant  to  conciliate  the  Creator  and  give 
Him  satisfaction.  We  have  come  to  regard 
impiety  as  a  refusal  to  pay  tribute — as  a  thing 
that  will  make  us  richer  and  God  poorer.  Our 
Lord,  on  the  other  hand,  regards  impiety,  not 
as  a  refusal  to  pay  money,  but  as  a  refusal  to 
take  it.  He  looks  upon  godlessness  as  the 
declining  of  a  favour  which  has  been  offered 
to     ourselves     and    whose     acceptance    would 

123 


124     SELF-INTEREST   OF   BEING  GOOD 

greatly  increase  our  store  of  happiness.  I  have 
often  been  struck  with  an  experience  common 
to  pastors  and  Sunday  School  teachers.  If  the 
parents  of  the  pupil  think  he  has  received  any 
slight  from  pastor  or  teacher,  the  child  is  absent 
the  next  Sunday  from  its  habitual  place  in  the 
class.  This  would  be  very  amusing  if  it  were 
not  very  sad.  The  idea  is  that  the  lesson  of  the 
Sunday  School  is  learned  as  a  favour  to  the 
teacher.  It  is  in  reality  taught  by  the  teacher 
as  a  favour  to  the  child.  The  things  therein 
contained  belong  to  the  peace  of  the  child,  and 
are  only  prescribed  by  the  teacher  on  that 
account.  The  performance  of  the  task  is  no 
personal  advantage  to  the  teacher.  It  is  only  an 
impersonal  advantage — it  gratifies  his  love.  So 
with  your  Divine  Teacher.  He  prescribes  your 
Sunday  lesson  because  it  belongs  to  your  peace. 
If  it  brings  glory  to  His  name,  it  is  because  His 
name  is  Love.  It  is  not  your  homage  that 
gladdens  Him ;  it  is  your  gladness.  It  is  not 
your  tribute  He  desires  ;  it  is  your  enrichment. 
It  is  not  your  possessions  that  He  wants ;  it  is 
the  peace  of  your  soul. 

Lord,  I  have  learned  by  experience  that 
Calvary  belongs  to  my  peace — that  I  can  only 
find  Thy  joy  through  bearing  Thy  yoke.  All 
through  my  life  Thou  hast  been  teaching  me 
that  my  hour  of  personal  happiness  is  my  hour 


SELF-INTEREST   OF   BEING   GOOD      125 

of  self-forgetfulness.  In  the  world  of  outward 
sense  I  find  the  star  when  I  look  for  it.  But  in 
the  world  of  my  soul  it  is  all  the  reverse  ;  I  only 
find  the  star  I  love  when  I  am  seeking  for 
another  star.  I  am  oftener  disappointed  hy  my 
expectation  than  in  my  expectation.  When  my 
heart  has  been  bent  upon  an  object,  when  I  have 
thought  of  it  by  day  and  dreamed  of  it  by  night, 
its  coming  has  not  seldom  failed  to  bring  the 
promised  joy.  Why  so,  my  Lord  ?  Because  it 
belongs  to  my  peace  that  I  should  be  self-forget- 
ting. It  is  my  telescope  that  has  spoiled  me.  I 
have  been  pointing  to  my  own  star.  I  have 
been  nursing  the  thought  of  my  coming  plea- 
sure. I  have  been  looking  through  the  glass  at 
my  approaching  happiness.  I  have  forgotten 
that  the  very  word  "happiness"  means  "that 
which  comes  by  chance — comes  when  we  seek 
not  for  it."  Remove  my  telescope,  O  Lord !  my 
telescope  belongs  not  to  my  peace.  Give  me  a 
daily  lesson  in  unselfishness  !  Teach  me  that  the 
flowers  of  life  come  in  at  the  side  door  when  I 
am  at  the  front  door !  When  I  am  distressed 
about  my  burden,  let  me  hear  the  cry  of  another 
distressed  about  his  burden !  Tell  me  to  leave 
mine  a  moment  in  the  street  till  I  have  run  and 
lifted  his  !  And  I  know  that  when  I  come  back 
to  get  my  own  I  shall  meet  a  great  surprise ;  my 
burden  will  not  be  there :  it  will  have  vanished 


126      SELF-INTEREST   OF   BEING  GOOD 

from  the  way.  In  its  place  there  will  lie  a  rose 
— the  Rose  of  Sharon,  the  Flower  of  Eternal 
Hope;  for  I  shall  have  found  in  the  hour  of 
sacrifice  the  thing  which  belongs  unto  my 
peace. 


XL 

HOW  HEREDITY   AFFECTS   SALVATION 

"  I  will  cleanse  their  blood." — Joel  iii.  21. 

"  /"^  AN  religion  do  that ! "  you  say.  "  Can  it 
V-/  cleanse  sins  of  the  blood !  I  always  knew 
it  could  cleanse  sins  of  a  certain  order — sins  of 
example,  sins  of  upbringing,  sins  of  worldly  cir- 
cumstance ;  but  sins  of  the  blood ! — I  thought 
that  was  something  beyond  it."  No,  it  is  not. 
You  need  not,  unless  you  will,  be  a  victim  of 
heredity.  You  say,  "I  carry  in  my  bosom  the 
vices  of  my  ancestors."  No,  my  brother,  you  do 
not.  You  bring  only  one  vice  from  your  ances- 
tors— a  weak  will,  and  with  that  you  make  all 
your  vices.  What  do  you  mean  by  the  transmis- 
sion of  wickedness  ?  What  is  that  which  passes 
from  father  to  son  on  the  stream  of  heredity  ?  Is 
it  drunkenness,  lasciviousness,  temper,  extrava- 
gance, meanness?  Not  one  of  these.  No  child 
brings  a  temptation  with  it  into  the  world.  The 
child   of   drunken  parents  before  it  has   tasted 

137 


128      HEREDITY   AFFECTS   SALVATION 

alcohol  has  no  more  tendency  to  drink  than  you 
have.  What  it  does  bring  into  the  world  is  a 
weak  will.  That  is  the  only  moral  possession 
transmitted  by  corrupt  blood.  God  says  :  "  The 
transmission  must  be,  but  it  can  be  remedied 
right  well.  You  say  you  have  received  from 
your  father  a  will  that  cannot  withstand 
temptation.  Come,  then,  and  I  will  give  you  a 
temptation  which  you  ought  not  to  withstand — 
the  temptation  to  a  great  love,  a  Divine  love. 
You  say  you  have  got  by  heredity  an  inability 
to  resist  surrender.  I  will  make  that  hereditary 
weakness  your  glory.  Surrender  to  3Ie !  Give 
up  your  will  to  My  tempting !  Yield  to  the 
solicitations,  to  the  allurements,  of  My  Spirit ! 
Abandon  yourself  to  the  prospect  of  '  pleasures 
for  evermore ' — of  a  house  with  many  mansions 
and  a  city  with  streets  of  gold  and  a  river  of 
crystal  clearness  and  a  tree  of  fruits  perennial ! 
Then  shall  your  very  defects  become  your  salva- 
tion. Not  in  spite  of,  but  through,  your  trans- 
mitted weakness  you  shall  enter  the  kingdom  of 
heaven.  It  will  be  worth  while  to  have  received 
from  your  ancestors  an  unresisting  will  if 
thereby  you  have  been  able  to  surrender  your- 
self to  Me.  It  will  be  worth  w^hile  to  have  been 
halt  and  maimed  if  thereby  you  have  been 
overtaken  by  3fy  chariots.  It  will  be  worth 
while   to  have  been   wounded   in   the   wing   if 


HEREDITY  AFFECTS   SALVATION     129 

thereby  you  have  been  captured  as  a  prisoner 
of  the  Lord." 

Lord,   it  is   through   my  very  nothingness   I 
hope  to   be  cleansed.     It  is  through  that  very 
weakness  of  will  which  I  have  derived  from  my 
earthly  fathers  that  I  hope  t©  be  drawn  to  my 
heavenly  Father.     The  stream  of  heredity  has 
taken    away  my  power   of   resistance  ;    but   so 
shall  I  the  sooner  be  conquered  by  Thee.     It  is 
the  old  heredity  that  has  prepared  me  for  a  new 
heredity.     For,  when  I  come  to  Thee  I  shall  get 
new    blood    in    my  veins — the   blood   of  Jesus 
Christ  Thy  Son.     When  I  come  to  Thee  the  old 
defect  shall  be  cleansed.     My  weakness  of  will 
shall  vanish  when  my  will  is  Thine.     I  shall  be 
brought  to  Thee  on  a  bed  ;  but  when  I  see  Thee 
I  shall  take  up  my  bed  and  walk.     I  shall  come 
in  as  a  captive,  but  I  shall  go  out  as  a  soldier.     I 
shall  enter  wearing  a  chain,  but  I  shall  emerge 
bearing  a  banner.     The  blood  of  Christ  Thy  Son 
will  be  to  me  a  new  heredity — a  birth  from  my 
Father.     I  will  hang  my  harp  no  more  on  the 
willows  by  the  streams  of  Babel.     There  will  be 
a  second  stream — the  blood  of  a  new  ancestry — • 
the  stream  that  maketh  glad  the  city  of  my  God. 
There  shall  I  tune  my  harp  in  the  sweet  by  and 
by.     The  impurity  of  the  old  stream  may  indeed 
prepare  my  way ;  but  the  blood  of  Jesus  Christ 
Thy  Son  cleanseth  from  all  sin. 

10 


XLI 

THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  ALTAR 

"  I  beseech  you  by  the  mercies  of  God  that  ye  present  your 
bodies  a  living  sacrifice." — Bom.  xii.  1. 

IT  is  not  often  that  the  idea  of  sacrifice  is 
associated  with  the  thought  of  rnercy.  We 
commonly  view  it  as  one  of  the  obstacles  to  our 
belief  in  God's  mercy.  In  all  religions  that  I 
know  of,  with  one  exception,  men  sacrifice  to 
God  at  times  when  they  think  His  mercy  turned 
away ;  they  sacrifice  to  avert  His  anger,  to 
restore  His  smile.  But  there  is  one  religion 
which  inverts  the  order — the  religion  of  Christ. 
All  other  faiths  say,  "  Sacrifice  that  ye  may  win 
God's  favour " ;  Christianity  says,  "  Win  God's 
favour  that  ye  may  sacrifice."  All  other  faiths 
make  sacrifice  the  root ;  Christianity  makes 
sacrifice  the  flower.  All  other  faiths  cry,  "  Bring 
your  offering  that  you  may  be  purified  " ;  Chris- 
tianity exclaims,  "  Be  pure  that  you  may  bring 
your  offering."     With   other  faiths   it  is   those 

130 


THE   FOUNDATION   OF  THE   ALTAR    131 

who  are  afar  off  that  sacrifice ;  in  Christ  it  ia 
those  who  are  near.  The  Gospel  offering  is  the 
offering  by  the  purest — a  soul  without  blemish 
and  without  spot.  That  is  the  reason  why  Paul 
says,  "  I  beseech  you  by  the  mercies  of  God  that 
you  present  your  bodies  a  living  sacrifice."  It 
is  the  sons  of  purity  that  he  calls  to  suffer  pain. 
It  is  to  the  souls  captivated  by  love  that  he 
appeals  for  an  exercise  of  self-denial.  "  Ye,"  he 
says,  "  who  have  yourselves  been  made  white, 
ye  who  have  received  the  mercy  of  your 
God,  ye  who  by  Divine  grace  have  already 
reached  the  inner  shrine  of  the  sanctuary,  I 
appeal  to  you  to  bear  the  burdens  of  humanity. 
I  ask  not  those  in  the  outer  court.  I  ask  not 
those  who  are  one  with  the  degraded  multitude. 
I  ask  not  those  who  are  partners  in  the  same 
sin  as  that  of  their  guilty  brother,  and  who, 
therefore,  might  be  expected  to  bear  his 
infirmities.  I  ask  the  white-robed.  I  appeal 
to  the  spotless.  I  call  upon  the  pure  in  heart 
who  see  God.  I  cry,  '  If  a  man  be  overtaken 
in  a  fault,  ye  who  are  spiritual,  restore ! '  I 
beseech  you  by  the  mercies  of  God  that  you 
present  your  bodies  a  living  sacrifice," 

I  thank  thee,  O  my  Father,  that  Thou  hast 
made  sacrifice  a  Divine  thing.  It  was  once 
the  mark  of  a  slave  ;  but  Thou  hast  glorified 
it.     It   was    once    the  mark   of   a    sinner;  but 


132    THE  FOUNDATION   OF  THE  ALTAR 

Thou  hast  exalted  it.  It  was  once  the 
mark  of  a  victim;  but  Thou  hast  enfran- 
chised it.  It  is  always  in  Thy  garden  that 
the  sensitive  plant  is  found.  In  Thy  presence 
is  fulness  of  joy ;  therefore  it  is  that  Thy 
presence  makes  us  more  sensitive  to  pain.  It 
is  they  who  have  been  gladdened  by  the  streams 
of  Thy  city  that  are  most  apt  to  be  saddened  by 
the  streams  of  other  cities.  It  is  from  Thy  sun- 
beams, O  my  God,  that  I  learn  the  shadows  of 
my  brother  man.  I  understand  why  it  is  that 
Paul  summons  to  Thine  altar  the  men  whom 
Thou  hast  blessed.  It  is  the  sons  of  Thy  king- 
dom alone  that  are  poor  in  spirit.  My  pity  is 
born  of  my  privileges.  Is  it  not  written  of  Thy 
Son  Christ  Jesus  that  because  He  was  in  Thy 
form  He  emptied  Himself  into  a  servant's  form  ? 
It  was  His  height  that  made  His  heaviness.  His 
Crown  that  made  His  Cross.  Even  so,  my 
Father,  let  it  be  with  me  !  May  every  personal 
crown  suggest  a  brother's  cross  !  May  the  bread 
w^hich  I  break  remind  me  of  the  hungry  !  May 
the  robe  Tvhich  I  wear  remind  me  of  the 
tattered !  May  the  house  which  I  inhabit 
remind  me  of  the  homeless  !  May  the  friends 
whom  I  prize  remind  me  of  the  solitary !  May 
the  books  which  I  read  remind  me  of  the 
ignorant !  May  the  fires  which  I  light  remind 
me  of  the  shivering !     May  the  helps  by  which 


THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  ALTAR    133 

I  travel  remind  me  of  the  footsore  and  weary  1 
So  shall  Thy  mercies  be  the  ground  of  my 
sacrifice  ;  I  shall  present  my  body  for  my 
brother's  burden  when  I  have  realised  my  own 
light. 


XLII 

THE   UNIQUE    ELEMENT   IN   CHRIST'S 
GOSPEL 

"  When  Moses  was  gone  into  the  tabernacle  of  the  congrega- 
tion to  speak  with  Him,  then  he  heard  the  voice  of  one  speak- 
ing unto  him  from  off  the  mercy  seat." — Num.  vii.  89. 

IT  is  only  when  we  go  into  the  tabernacle  to 
speak  with  God  that  we  find  a  mercy  seat. 
When  we  go  to  speak  with  man  we  find  only  a 
judgment  seat.  Even  the  apostles  have  not 
waited  for  the  twelve  thrones  Christ  has 
promised  them.  They  have  set  up  little  thrones 
on  their  own  account — have  sentenced  Samaria 
to  fire  and  a  Roman  soldier  to  mutilation.  Nor, 
if  we  go  into  the  temple  of  Nature,  shall  we  find 
exactly  a  seat  of  mercy.  We  shall  find  a  seat 
of  medicine — an  instrumentality  for  effecting 
repairs.  It  is  proverbial  in  the  medical  world 
to  speak  of  leaving  things  to  Nature.  And 
Nature  does  indeed  tend  to  bind  up  her  own 
wounds,    to    heal    the    bones    that    have    been 

134 


UNIQUE   ELEMENT  IN  GOSPEL       135 

broken.     Yet  this   is    not   quite   a   mercy    seat. 
Nature  says,  "  I  will  heal  thee,  and  then  I  shall 
love  thee."     It  is  something  far  above  indiffer- 
ence ;  but  is  it  yet  Divine  ?     No,  because  it  does 
not  yet   meet   the   full   need  of  the  hu7nan.     I 
vi^ant  to  be  loved  U7ihealed — loved  in  my  rags, 
loved  in  my  destitution.     He  who   sits   upon  a 
mercy  seat  must    summon   before    him    not  a 
white-robed  multitude,  but  a  company  clothed 
in  sackcloth.     Am  I  to  wait  for  the  music  and 
the  dancing  ere  I  can  say,  "  I  will  arise  and  go 
to  my   Father "  !     If  Nature   be   my  Father,  it 
would  seem  so.    But  I  hear  the  voice  of  a  deeper 
paternity — "  Come  unto  Me,  all  ye  that  labour, 
and  I  will  give  you  rest."     It  bids  me  wait  for 
no  music,  wait  for  no  dancing,  wait  neither  for 
ring  nor  robe.     It  bids  me  come  in  my  hunger, 
in  my  sickness,  in  my  squalor.      It  cries,  "  Tarry 
not  till  you  are  better !     Delay  not  till  you  have 
put  on  your  fairest  robe  !     Linger  not  till  you 
have  found  an  attire  fit  for  presentation  to  the 
King  of  kings !     Come  now — just  as  you  are — 
without  one  plea — with  the  grave-clothes  hang- 
ing round   you  ! "     This   is   counted   one  of  the 
platitudes  of  evangelicalism.     It  is  in  truth  the 
most  unique  experience  which  the  present  world 
reveals — the    unfolding    of    a   mercy   seat.     No 
such   invitation    is   given   by   Nature ;    no   such 
invitation  is  given  by  man ;  no  such  invitation 


136       UNIQUE  ELEMENT  IN  GOSPEL 

is  given  by  the  creeds  of  man.  One  alone 
has  proclaimed  that  startling  paradox.  One 
alone  has  dared  to  say  a  thing  so  original, 
so  new.  It  is  He  who  spoke  as  never  man 
spake. 

Jesus,  Thou  hast  brought  a  new  thing  out  of 
Thy  treasure — a  gem  never  seen  before.  The 
wise  men  of  the  East  have  shown  us  many 
precious  things — gold  and  frankincense  and 
myrrh  and  the  light  of  ancient  stars.  But  amid 
all  their  bright  things  there  was  one  jewel  want- 
ing, one  star  absent  from  the  sky ;  there  was  no 
mercy  seat.  They  brought  pearls  to  the  purified, 
hopes  to  the  healed,  robes  to  the  reformed ;  but 
they  had  nothing  for  the  leper,  nothing  for  the 
dying,  nothing  for  the  unregenerate.  Thou  alone 
hast  brought  that  treasure,  O  my  Lord.  Thou 
alone  hast  a  ring  for  the  unclean sed  hand, 
sandals  for  the  unwashed  feet,  raiment  for  the 
ungainly  form.  Thou  alone  hast  an  invitation 
for  the  highways  and  the  hedges.  Others  have 
bidden  those  from  whom  they  can  receive ; 
Thou  hast  called  the  destitute.  Others  have 
bidden  those  who  have  the  promise  and  potency 
of  life ;  Thou  hast  called  the  dead.  Others  have 
bidden  those  who  have  seen  the  King  in  His 
beauty ;  Thou  hast  called  the  blind.  Others 
have  bidden  those  who  have  heard  the  music ; 
Thou  hast  called  the  deaf.     Others  have  bidden 


UNIQUE   ELEMENT  IN  GOSPEL       137 

those  who  run  towards  the  prize  ;  Thou  hast 
called  the  lame.  Others  have  bidden  those  who 
bear  the  fruits  of  repentance ;  Thou  hast  called 
sinners  unto  Thee.  Only  in  Thy  tabernacle  shall 
I  find  the  mercy  seat. 


XLin 

THE   GLORIFYING  OF  MEMORY 


"  The  angel  of  God,  which  went  before  the  oamp  of  Israel^ 
removed  and  went  behind  them." — Exod.  xiv.  19. 


THERE  are  times  in  this  life  when  the  angel 
who  went  before  us  walks  behind  us.  I 
would  call  these  the  times  of  retrospect.  The 
angel  of  our  life  is  usually  in  advance  of  us  ;  it 
is  commonly  an  angel  of  hope.  Most  of  us  live 
by  the  light  of  the  future.  Youth  looks  for- 
ward to  a  coming  glory  of  the  earth ;  age  looks 
forward  to  a  coming  glory  in  the  heavens. 
But  I  think  there  is  a  period  between  youth 
and  age  when  the  angel  of  hope  gives  place 
to  the  angel  of  memory.  I  allude  to  that  little 
strip  of  ground  called  middle  life.  It  is  neither 
the  morning  nor  the  evening ;  and  therefore  it 
neither  lives  in  the  prospect  of  to-day  nor  in 
the  prospect  of  to-morrow.  And  being  unable 
to  look  forward,  it  looks  back.  The  angel  goes 
behind  us.     Middle  age  lives  more  on  its  memo- 

138 


THE   GLORIFYING  OF  MEMORY      139 

ries  than  on  its  prospects.  Yet  I  would  not  call 
it  on  that  account  a  barren  age.  Is  memory  to 
be  the  only  power  of  the  soul  which  is  to  have 
no  angel — no  symbol  of  immortality !  We  speak 
of  immortal  hope,  of  abiding  faith,  of  deathless 
love.  We  speak  of  undying  aspiration,  of 
quenchless  longing,  of  indomitable  will.  Is 
memory  to  be  the  only  thing  without  a  sym- 
bol of  the  endless !  I  have  seen  the  resurrec- 
tion angel  pointing  on  to  the  future — walking 
in  advance  of  the  march  of  man ;  but  is  he 
never  to  walk  behind  !  Am  I  always  to  be 
told  of  the  great  powers  which  are  coming — of 
the  added  senses,  and  the  quickened  wings  of 
thought !  Is  there  nothing  to  be  done  "  lest 
we  forget " !  Is  there  to  be  no  provision  for 
memory !  We  may  be  planted  to-morrow  in 
fairer  fields ;  but  our  deepest  joy  in  a  field 
comes  not  from  its  fairness — it  comes  from  its 
memories.  We  may  be  led  to-morrow  into 
pastures  new ;  but  our  deepest  joy  in  pastures 
is  not  their  novelty — it  is  their  power  to  recall. 
We  may  be  greeted  to-morrow  by  songs  un- 
heard before ;  but  our  deepest  joy  in  a  song 
is  not  its  freshness — it  is  its  oldness,  its  ability 
to  wake  the  past.  Oh !  there  may  be  beautiful 
angels  in  front  of  us — angels  with  shining  robes, 
angels  with  glittering  plumes !  But  if  there  is 
no  angel  behind  us — no  power  that  can  recall 


140      THE  GLORIFYING  OF  MEMORY 

the  memories  of  our  native  shore,  we  are  dis- 
posed to  cry,  "  Carry  us  not  up  hence  ! " 

I  thank  Thee,  O  Lord,  that  Thou  hast  placed 
an  angel  behind  me — hast  glorified  the  things 
of  memory.  I  thank  Thee  that  the  resurrec- 
tion angel  sits  upon  the  stone  where  sleeps  my 
buried  past,  and  gives  nie  promise  that  it  will 
rise  again.  I  do  not  want  to  part  with  my  old 
garments — mean  though  they  be,  threadbare  as 
they  are.  I  would  have  the  clothes  of  my  dead 
past  bound  carefully  in  a  napkin  and  laid  in  a 
sacred  spot.  I  would  not  have  the  moth  and 
rust  of  time  corrupt  them  ;  I  would  not  have 
forgetfulness  steal  them  away.  I  would  not 
even  lose  the  print  of  the  nails  that  tore  them. 
I  should  like,  my  Father,  to  ask  Thee  for  an 
explanation  of  my  pain.  They  tell  me  it  will 
be  all  forgotten — the  tears  wiped  from  my 
eyes.  That  is  only  the  promise  that  there  will 
be  an  angel  in  front  of  me.  But  I  want  an 
angel  behind  me.  I  do  not  wish  a  child's  for- 
getfulness, but  a  man's  remembrance.  I  am 
not  so  eager  that  the  tears  should  be  wiped 
as  that  the  tears  should  be  vindicated.  It  is 
easy  to  expunge — the  angel  in  front  can  do  that ; 
but  to  explain — that  needs  an  angel  at  the  back 
of  me.  Send  into  my  past  not  a  cloud  but  a 
sunshine — not  an  oblivion  but  a  glory  !  The 
pledge  of  my  vindicated  yesterday  is  the  angel 
that  walks  behind. 


XLIV 
THE  GROUND  OF  DIVINE  COMPASSION 

"  Should  not  I  spare  Nineveh,  wherein  are  more  than  six 
Bcore  thousand  persons  that  cannot  discern  between  their  right 
hand  and  their  left  hand  ?  " — Jonah  iv.  11. 

THE  beings  here  spoken  of  are  the  infants 
of  Nineveh — the  lives  which  had  not 
reached  the  age  of  conscious  discernment.  It 
is  a  wonderful  passage.  Some  old  Calvinistic 
divines  used  to  say  that  the  salvation  of  a 
child  depended  on  the  faith  of  the  parent.  If 
they  had  only  looked  into  the  Book  of  Jonah, 
they  would  have  seen  that  God  had  there  set 
forth  a  refutation  of  their  theory.  Here  the 
parents  are  all  bad — to  a  man,  to  a  woman. 
They  are  idolaters  in  doctrine,  they  are  wicked 
in  life  ;  they  have  no  circumcision,  no  baptism, 
no  Holy  Communion.  And  yet  these  little  chil- 
dren of  godless  parents  are  so  dear  to  the  heart 
of  the  All-Father  that  He  cannot  destroy  the 
oity  which  they  inhabit.  "  Cannot  "  is  the 
appropriate  word.     There  is  a  magnificent  limit 


142    GROUND  OF  DIVINE  COMPASSION 

to  the  omnipotence  of  God — the  limit  imposed 
by  His  love.  His  power  cannot  pass  the  boun- 
daries of  His  heart.  All  the  voices  of  the  uni- 
verse called  for  the  death  of  Nineveh — all  but 
one.  Law  called  for  it ;  prudence  called  for  it ; 
morality  called  for  it ;  political  economy  called 
for  it ;  the  survival  of  the  fittest  called  for  it. 
But  there  was  one  thing  which  cried  against  it 
— God's  compassion  for  the  infants.  It  was  a 
solitary  voice — a  voice  crying  in  the  w^ilderness. 
It  was  unsupported  by  the  voice  of  policy,  the 
voice  of  worldly  prudence,  the  voice  of  public 
opinion.  It  gave  no  cause  for  its  cry.  It  did 
nat  say,  "  These  infants  may  be  good  some  day, 
great  some  day,  believers  some  day."  It  was 
the  wilderness  that  made  the  cry;  it  was  sheer 
pity  for  the  helpless  that  opened  the  arms 
of  God. 

My  soul,  hast  thou  considered  this,  that  in 
the  heart  of  thy  Father  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  compassion  for  its  own  sake  !  There  is 
nothing  I  am  so  apt  to  forget.  I  am  always 
seeking  a  reason  for  God's  pity  beyond  my  pain. 
I  have  cried,  with  the  men  of  old,  "For  Thy 
servant  Davids  sake."  Why  look  so  far,  O  my 
sotd !  Why  not  take  thy  place  with  the  infants 
of  Nineveh,  with  the  infants  in  the  arms  of 
Jesus  !  Wilt  thou  not  learn  that  alike  in  God 
and  man  compassion  is  its  own  argument !    How 


GROUND   OF  DIVINE   COMPASSION      143 

slialt  thou  plead  for  these  infants  of  Nineveh? 
Shalt  thou  say,  "  Remember  Thy  covenant  with 
David  "  ?  But  they  are  not  of  the  seed  of  David. 
Shalt  thou  say,  "  For  the  sake  of  their  father 
Abraham"?  But  they  are  not  of  the  stock  of 
Abraham.  Shalt  thou  say,  "  In  remembrance 
of  their  pious  ancestry"?  But  their  ancestry 
is  impious,  and  their  fathers  deserve  to  die. 
Look  not  so  far  in  thy  pleading,  O  my  soul ! 
The  heart  of  thy  God  moves  not  on  borrowed 
wings.  The  pinions  of  its  pity  are  not  attached 
from  without ;  they  grow  from  within.  They 
are  independent  of  David  or  Abraham  or  Moses ; 
they  are  moved  only  by  the  creature's  pain. 
Point  not  beyond  the  swaddling  bands !  Point 
not  beyond  the  manger !  Point  not  beyond  the 
helpless  cry  !  All  the  guilt  of  Nineveh  cannot 
reach  the  height  of  these  arguments.  The  in- 
fants of  Nineveh  are  outside  the  pale.  Israel 
knows  them  not ;  the  Church  owns  them  not ; 
ordinances  sanctify  them  not  ;  respectability 
needs  them  not.  But  in  the  heart  of  the 
Father  their  cry  outweighs  all.  They  prevail 
by  their  poverty  ;  they  win  by  their  wailing  ; 
they  rule  by  their  rags ;  they  dominate  by 
their  destitution ;  they  triumph  by  their 
troubles ;  they  conquer  the  heart  of  God  by  a 
cry  from  the  heart  of  man.  When  thou  prayest 
to  thy  Father  thou  needest  only  thy  need. 


XLV 
THE   CLIMAX  OF  RETRIBUTIVE  JUSTICE 


"  The  Lord  is  slow  to  anger,  and  will  not  at  all  acquit  the 
wicked." — Nahum  i.  3. 


IS  not  this  a  contradiction?  No  ;  I  under- 
stand the  prophet  to  mean  that  there  are 
more  complete  modes  of  rooting  out  evil  than 
the  destruction  of  the  evildoer.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  violent  passion  does  not  remedy  wrong.  It 
sometimes  exhausts  itself ;  it  sometimes  over- 
steps the  mark  and  creates  sympathy  with  the 
wrong  side.  I  take  Nahum  to  mean  that  the 
best  way  to  root  out  evil  is  to  make  it  work  the 
ends  of  mercy.  What  is  the  greatest  judgment 
on  sin  ?  Is  it  the  annihilation  of  the  sinner  ? 
That  leaves  the  act  untouched  ;  it  simply  adds  a 
new  catastrophe.  Is  it  the  destruction  of  the 
sinner's  work  ?  That  merely  enables  one  to  begin 
again  :  it  does  not  remedy  the  loss  of  time.  But 
imagine  that  you  could  convert  the  barrier  into 
a    gate.     Imagine    that    you    could    make    the 


CLIMAX   OF  RETRIBUTIVE   JUSTICE     145 

opposing  wall  the  jRrst  wall  of  your  own  city. 
Imagine  that,  instead  of  demolishing  the  crosses 
raised  by  your  Pilates  and  your  Herods,  you 
could  make  these  crosses  the  stepping-stones  of 
Christ's  glory.  Would  not  Nah urn's  view  here 
be  vindicated !  Would  not  sin  be  destroyed  by 
the  very  mercy  of  God — the  slowness  of  His 
anger  !  It  "would  be  a  stronger  judgment  on 
sin  than  the  thunderbolt  or  the  earthquake  or 
the  pestilence.  It  would  be  a  turning  of  sin's 
weapons  against  itself,  a  rooting- out  of  the 
disease  by  its  own  germ,  a  transformation  of 
the  lake  of  fire  into  the  river  of  life  eternal. 

Lord,  I  have  often  marvelled  at  the  slowness 
of  Thine  anger.  I  have  seen  the  enemy  sow 
tares  in  Thy  field.  I  have  looked  for  the  floods 
to  blight  it,  and  they  have  not  fallen.  I  have 
expected  the  winds  to  blast  it,  and  they  have 
not  risen.  I  have  called  on  disease  to  smite  it, 
and  it  has  not  come.  And  I  have  said,  "  Surely 
Thou  art  indiffei^ent  to  good  and  evil ;  Thou 
smilest  alike  on  both ' "  Then  I  have  seen  a 
strange  thing.  The  tares  which  I  wanted  Thy 
servants  to  pluck  out  have  sprung  up  to  view, 
not  as  tares,  but  as  wheat.  The  bad  seed  which 
the  enemy  sowed  has  risen  in  fruit  and  flower 
and  foliage,  and  drawn  the  wondering  eyes.  The 
blood  of  the  martyrs  has  become  the  seed  of 
the  Church ;  the  desert  has  been  crowded ;  the 

11 


146    CLIMAX   OF  RETRIBUTIVE   JUSTICE 

wilderness  has  sung.  In  that  hour  I  knew  that 
I  was  wrong,  that  the  prophet  was  right.  I  saw 
the  world's  sin  condemned  by  the  very  slowness 
of  Thine  anger,  by  the  very  patience  of  Thy 
waiting.  If  the  servants  had  plucked  up  the 
tares  it  would  have  been  a  poor  judgment ; 
others  could  have  sown  new  tares  to-morrow. 
But  w^hen  the  tares  themselves  burst  into  flower, 
there  was  no  chance  for  evil.  The  enemy  made 
a  cross  for  Thee,  O  Lord — a  cross  that  was  to 
crucify  Thy  glory.  The  servants  cried,  "  Pull  it 
down ;  break  it  in  pieces  like  a  potter's  vessel !  " 
But  Thou  saidst,  "  Let  it  stand  until  the  harvest!" 
And  lo  !  in  the  autumn  field  it  is  the  fairest  of 
all  the  flowers,  the  sweetest  of  all  the  fruits,  the 
greenest  of  all  the  leaves !  Was  there  ever 
judgment  on  sin  like  that !  Where  are  the  tares 
gone  ?  They  were  not  plucked,  yet  they  are  not 
here  ;  whither  have  they  vanished  ?  They  are 
all  in  the  garden  of  Thy  grace.  The  thorn  has 
become  a  fir-tree  and  the  briar  a  myrtle-tree  and 
the  bramble  a  Christmas-tree.  The  withered  are 
waving  ;  the  barren  are  budding ;  the  seedless 
are  springing ;  the  fruitless  are  flourishing. 
That  which  came  to  quell  has  quickened  ;  that 
which  came  to  smite  has  smiled ;  that  which 
came  to  blast  has  blessed ;  that  which  came  to 
burn  has  beautified.  Thou  hast  conquered  sin 
by  the  slowness  of  Thine  anger. 


XLVI 
A  NEW  ROAD  TO  AN  OLD  MORALITY 


"  Think  not  that  I  am  come  to  destroy  the  law  ;  I  am  not 
come  to  destroy,  but  to  fulfil." — Matt.  v.  17. 
"  Ye  are  become  dead  to  the  law." — Rom.  vii.  4. 


IS  there  not  a  great  contradiction  here  ?  Christ 
says  He  has  come  to  fulfil  the  law ;  Paul 
tells  his  fellow-Christians  that  they  ought  to 
become  dead  to  it !  Is  there  any  reconciling  of 
such  statements  as  these  ?  Yes ;  they  are  sus- 
ceptible of  a  perfect,  a  glorious  harmony.  For 
consider,  no  law^  is  ever  fulfilled  until  we  are 
dead  to  it.  Of  course,  there  are  two  opposite 
ways  in  which  a  man  may  become  dead  to  a 
law.  A  habitual  criminal  may  become  so  hard- 
ened as  to  lose  all  fear  of  punishment^ even  of 
death  itself.  This  is  one  way,  and  he  who  treads 
it  is  a  practised  law-breaker.  But  there  is 
another  and  a  contrary  road  to  emancipation 
from  the  sense  of  law.  Suppose  that  the  same 
criminal  should  suddenly  be  touched  by  one  pure 

H7 


148     NEW   ROAD  TO   AN   OLD   MORALITY 

affection.  I  do  not  mean  a  sensuous  love,  but 
the  love  for  something  which  is  white  and  inno- 
cent. Suppose  a  little  child  of  his  own  lays 
hold  of  the  tendrils  of  his  heart  and  keeps  him 
in  a  prison  where  he  never  dwelt  before.  Sup- 
pose that  this  little  child  should  become  to  him 
the  representative  of  all  childhood,  and  that  his 
ow^n  love  for  it  should  become  the  representative 
of  all  parenthood.  Suppose  that  through  this 
common  sympathy  he  should  come  habitually 
to  put  himself  in  the  place  of  all  distressed 
children  and  all  afflicted  fathers  and  mothers. 
Do  you  not  see  what  the  effect  of  this  would  be  ? 
He  would  still  be  as  dead  to  the  law^  as  ever,  but 
no  longer  for  the  old  reason.  Yesterday  he  was 
regardless  of  law  through  want  of  feeling ;  to- 
day he  is  regardless  through  feeling.  Yesterday 
the  command  had  no  force  because  he  was  hard- 
ened ;  to-day  the  command  has  no  force  because 
he  is  softened.  Yesterday  the  policeman  was 
useless  because  he  feared  him  not ;  to-day  the 
policeman  is  useless  because  he  needs  him  not. 
The  policeman  is  not  a  motive  to  him—  if  he  were 
taken  off  the  beat  it  would  make  no  difference. 
He  can  fulfil  the  law  by  love.  He  has  received 
a  more  imperative  mandate  than  any  prohibitory 
notice  or  any  judicial  bill  could  furnish.  But  it 
is  a  mandate  from  within — the  magistracy  of 
the  heart.     He  keeps  the  law  because  he  is  dead 


NEW  ROAD  TO  AN  OLD  MORALITY  U9 

to  it.  Wings  have  made  his  feet  unnecessary. 
He  can  traverse  the  old  road  by  a  new  vehicle. 
He  can  put  out  the  candle  when  he  has  seen 
the  sun. 

Lord,  Thou  hast  for  every  striving  soul  a  time 
when  death  and  hell  are  "  cast  into  the  lake  of 
fire."  Hasten  that  time  for  me,  O  my  Father ! 
I  should  like  death  and  hell  to  be  dead  to  me — 
dead,  as  a  motive — dead,  as  a  deterrent.  I  should 
like  all  law  to  be  dead  to  me.  I  would  not  fear 
my  own  penalty,  but  my  brother's  pain.  I 
would  not  dread  my  personal  incarceration,  but 
my  victim's  cry.  I  would  not  be  deterred  by 
fetters,  but  by  feelings.  I  would  not  tremble 
before  the  doors  of  the  gaol,  but  before  the 
demands  of  my  own  justice.  If  I  see  a  starving 
child,  let  me  not  say,  "  I  must  feed  the  poor, 
for  those  who  gave  no  meat  departed  into  ever- 
lasting fire."  Nay,  my  Father,  rather  at  such 
seasons  would  I  pray,  "  Let  not  my  fire  of  love 
depart  from  within  me  !  "  Make  the  hell  which 
I  fear  unholiness,  the  chain  which  I  dread  un- 
charity,  the  fire  which  I  loathe  unfeelingness  ! 
Teach  me  that  there  is  no  penalty  like  the 
penalty  of  Dives  ! — to  have  a  great  gulf  between 
myself  and  any  suppliant  at  my  gates.  May 
this  be  the  flame  I  flee  from,  may  this  be  the 
worm  I  beware  of !  Send  the  waters  of  sympathy 
to  cool  my  thirst !     Put  a  bridge  of  love  over  the 


150     NEW   ROAD   TO  AN   OLD  MORALITY 

gulf  of  selfishness  !  Create  within  me  the  sense 
of  a  brother's  want,  yea,  of  an  enemy's  want  ! 
Let  his  wounds  make  me  sore ;  let  his  griefs 
make  me  sad  ;  let  his  trials  make  me  heavy ; 
let  his  tears  make  me  weep  !  Then  shall  I  fulfil 
the  law  to  whose  motives  I  am  dead. 


XLVII 
THE   CALL  NOT  TO   GO 

*'  He  that  had  been  possessed  with  the  devil  prayed  Him 
that  he  might  be  with  Him.  Howbeit  Jesus  suflfered  him  not, 
but  saith  unto  him,  Go  home  to  thy  friends." — Maek  v.  18, 19. 

THIS  is  a  remarkable  refusal  of  prayer.  If 
ever  prayer  was  uttered  to  which  a 
favourable  answer  might  have  been  predicted 
it  would  seem  to  have  been  this.  A  man  who 
had  been  redeemed  from  his  iniquity  asks 
leave  to  dwell  in  the  special  presence  of  Jesus — 
in  other  words,  to  devote  himself  exclusively  to 
a  religious  mission  ;  he  is  told  to  go  home  to  his 
friends.  His  friends  doubtless  thought  that  he 
had  shown  great  piety  in  his  desire  to  get  away 
from  them.  It  must  have  been  an  extreme 
surprise  to  them  when  Christ  sent  him  back.  I 
can  imagine  them  saying,  "  How  could  the  Lord 
have  rejected  the  services  of  one  who  desired  to 
be  a  missionary  of  His  truth ! "  But  did  He 
reject  his  services  ?  No  ;  if  we  think  that,  we 
have  missed  the  point  altogether.     The  man  was 

151 


152  THE   CALL  NOT  TO   GO 

under  a  false  impression.  He  thought  that  the 
only  way  of  serving  Jesus  was  in  the  work  of 
the  sanctuary.  Jesus  told  him  this  was  a  mis- 
take. He  told  him  that  a  man,  that  a  woman, 
might  be  a  missionary  by  the  fireside.  He 
told  him  that  the  duties  of  the  domestic  altar 
were  as  dear  to  the  heart  of  God  as  the  preach- 
ing of  the  Gospel  or  the  writing  of  Christian 
tracts.  He  sent  him  home  to  his  friends,  not 
because  he  was  unfit  for  His  service,  but  because 
he  was  specially  fit  for  a  particular  branch  of 
His  service — the  family  circle.  I  think  the 
Gospel  would  have  lost  something  without  this 
incident.  We  hear  a  great  deal  about  the  call 
to  leave  the  home  and  follow  Jesus ;  is  it  not 
well  that  there  should  at  least  be  one  call  of  a 
contrary  kind — the  solicitation  to  quit  the 
immediate  presence  of  Jesus  and  pursue  the 
duties  of  the  home  ? 

My  brother,  my  sister,  I  have  heard  thee 
bemoaning  thy  want  of  a  mission.  I  have  heard 
thee  many  times  complaining  that  the  duties  of 
home  forbid  thee  to  consecrate  thyself  to  God. 
I  have  heard  thee  pray  for  a  corner  in  God's 
vineyard — for  a  place  among  evangelists,  for  a 
message  to  the  heathen,  for  a  district  of  visita- 
tion among  the  sick ;  and  I  have  seen  thee  fret 
because  no  door  was  opened.  Did  it  never  strike 
thee  that  the  shut  door  was  itself  an  answer  to 


THE   CALL  NOT  TO   GO  153 

thy  prayer.  Did  it  never  strike  thee  that  thou 
art  the  very  one  vv^ho  asked  to  abide  with  Jesus 
on  the  sea  and  to  whom  Jesus  said,  "  Go  home  to 
thy  friends."  There  are  those  who  are  called  to 
do  outdoor  work ;  but  there  are  those  also  who 
are  called  not  to  do  outdoor  work.  Why  not 
claim  thy  prohibition  as  itself  a  call  from  God. 
Art  thou  confined  to  the  family  circle — tied  by 
the  duties  of  the  household,  forced  to  abide  at 
home.  Does  that  make  you  less  a  missionary 
than  Paul  was  ?  Not  so,  my  brother.  God  sent 
Paul  out ;  but  He  sends  thee  in.  The  men  on 
the  sea  with  Jesus  had  a  glorious  mission,  but 
not  more  glorious  than  that  of  the  healed  de- 
moniac whom  Jesus  sent  home.  Has  the  Lord 
refused  to  thee  the  request  He  granted  to 
Livingstone — the  permission  to  go  out  and  con- 
vert the  nations.  Be  it  so  ;  but  remember,  the 
refusal  is  as  special  a  call  to  thee  as  the  per- 
mission was  to  Livingstone.  Go  home  to  thy 
friends !  God  cries  to  thee.  Consecrate  each 
family  tie  !  Light  heaven  on  the  hearth  !  Plant 
Nazareth  in  the  nursery !  Sow  peace  in  the 
parlour !  Shed  kindness  in  the  kitchen !  Spread 
Bethany  at  the  board  !  Fill  with  pure  literature 
the  library !  Be  hospitable  to  the  stranger  in 
the  hall !  Then  shalt  thou  know  that  it  was  a 
mission  call  which  said  to  thee,  "  Go  home  to  thy 
friends. 


XLVIII 
REVELATION  IN  COMMON  LIFE 

"  I  went  up  by  revelation." — Gal.  ii.,  2. 

PAUL  means  to  say  that  his  going  up  to 
Jerusalem  was  providential.  Man  sent 
him  for  one  purpose  ;  God  had  in  view  another. 
He  came  up  just  at  the  right  time.  He  did  not 
know  it  was  the  right  time.  God  led  him  by  a 
human  motive — a  secular  motive.  Paul  thought 
he  was  only  carrying  a  private  subscription.  He 
never  dreamed  that  he  was  coming  into  the  very 
heart  of  a  great  church-council ;  if  he  had,  I  do 
not  think  he  would  have  come.  He  was  very 
anxious  to  be  deemed  independent  of  his  Jeru- 
salem brethren,  and  would  naturally  have 
shrunk  from  meeting  them.  Therefore  God 
drew  him  by  a  secular  motive,  a  financial 
motive.  He  tempted  him  up  by  circumstances 
— by  commonplace  circumstances.  Though  he 
did  not  at  the  time  know  it,  these  circumstances 
were  really  a  Divine  revelation.     He  came  after- 


REVELATION   IN   COMMON   LIFE       155 

wards  to  see  that  they  were  so — that  they  had 
been  his  messengers  crying,  *'  Come  " ;  in  looking 
back  he  is  not  afraid  to  say,  "I  went  up  by 
revelation." 

Even  so,  my  soul,  has  it  often  been  with  thee. 
Often  hast  thou  gone  up  to  thy  Jerusalem  for 
what  seemed  a  triJfle.  Thou  hast  gone  up 
grudgingly,  unwillingly.  There  has  come  an 
invitation  from  a  friend  which  it  has  not  been 
thought  kind  to  refuse,  yet  whose  acceptance 
has  seemed  a  waste  of  time.  And  so  thou  hast 
gone,  almost  against  the  wishes  of  thy  heart. 
And  that  unwilling  visit  has  been  the  tide  of  thy 
fortune — the  wave  that  has  wafted  thee  into 
prosperity.  There,  in  the  streets  of  that  Jeru- 
salem, thou  hast  met  thy  destiny.  While  bent 
on  other  business,  while  intent  on  other  aims, 
thy  fate  has  found  thee.  And  ever  since,  that 
trifling  cause  which  drew  thee  to  Jerusalem  has 
been  hailed  as  the  voice  of  God.  In  looking 
forward,  thy  saying  was,  "I  am  going  up  by 
invitation  "  ;  but  in  looking  back,  thy  words  will 
ever  be,  "  I  went  up  by  revelation."  Saul's  father 
sent  him  on  an  errand  one  day ;  on  the  road  he 
received  a  kingdom ;  and  ever  afterwards  he 
knew  that  the  errand  had  been  God's  errand. 
And  henceforth  to  thee,  my  soul,  there  wiU  be 
nothing  common  or  unclean ;  all  seeming  trifles 
will  be  possible  revelations.     Thou  wilt  uncover 


156       REVELATION   IN   COMMON   LIFE 

thy  head  before  the  commonplace  ;  thou  wilt  bow 
reverently  in  the  presence  of  the  passing  hour. 
Every  village  will  be  a  possible  Bethlehem ;  every 
feast  will  be  a  possible  Bethany  ;  every  pool  will 
be  a  possible  Bethesda.  Walk  solemnly  on  the 
dusty  road  to  Eramaus  ;  who  knows  but  that  the 
stranger  to  whom  thou  talkest  may  be  thy  life's 
revealer  !  Tread  softly  the  way  through  despised 
Samaria ;  who  knows  but  that  the  Lord  is  resting 
on  the  well !  Move  seriously  through  the  prosaic 
duties  of  Nazareth ;  who  know^s  but  at  thy  side 
the  Christ  may  be  working  too  !  The  doors  that 
to-day  seem  to  open  only  into  the  street  may  be 
found  to-morrow  to  have  opened  into  Paradise. 
On  all  of  them  your  inscription  yet  may  be,  "  I 
went  up  by  revelation." 


XLIX 
THE  HOUR  OF  DIVINE  INERTNESS 

"  He  was  in  the  hinder  part  of  the  ship,  asleep  on  a  pillow.'' 
— Mark  iv.  38. 

I  HAVE  often  asked  myself,  What  is  the 
most  disturbing  theological  aspect  of  the 
sea  of  life  ?  Most  people  will  answer,  "  It  is  its 
moments  of  Divine  judgment."  That  is  not  my 
opinion.  It  may  be  a  solemn  thing  to  me,  as  it 
was  to  Luther,  when  God  seems  directly  to 
intervene  by  a  manifestation  of  displeasure. 
But  that  has  its  comfort  as  well  as  its  solemnity. 
It  is  something  to  feel  that  I  am  in  the  hand  of 
God,  even  though  the  pressure  of  His  hand  is 
heavy  on  me.  But  I  think  the  most  shadowy 
moment  of  my  life  is  when  I  do  not  feel  the 
pressure  of  the  hand  of  God — when  I  am  uncon- 
scious of  His  touch  either  as  light  or  heavy.  The 
hour  when  I  am  most  stricken  is  the  hour  when 
my  God  seems  to  be  asleep.     And  to  a  spiritual 

15T 


158    THE   HOUR   OF  DIVINE   INERTNESS 

mind  it  matters  very  little  whether  God  seems  to 
sleep  in  a  calm  or  in  a  storm.  To  the  disciples 
in  that  ship  the  dreadful  thing  was  the  seeming 
indifference  in  the  sior//i;  but  the  disciples  were 
not  yet  spii'itual  minds — they  were  only  afraid 
for  their  lives.  What  the  spiritual  mind  fears 
is  not  a  loss  of  the  ship  but  a  losing  sight  of  God. 
I  think  that  in  point  of  fact  we  oftener  cry  for 
God  on  the  becalmed  sea  than  on  the  stormy  sea. 
Examine  your  doubting  moments — the  times 
when  you  dread,  not  a  God  of  judgment,  but  a 
God  of  indifference.  What  are  these  moments  ? 
Are  they  mainly  the  times  of  shaking,  the  times 
of  war,  the  times  of  national  upheaving  ?  No ; 
they  are  chiefly  the  days  of  peace.  It  is  when 
the  sun  rises  indiscriminately,  when  good  har- 
vests come  to  bad  people,  when  no  commercial 
crash  follows  illegitimate  trade,  w^hen  loose  life 
is  accepted  as  the  fashion,  when  oppression  is 
tolerated,  when  extravagance  is  condoned,  when 
the  sea  of  danger  is  sailed  without  shipwreck 
and  the  rock  is  struck  without  damage  to  the 
crew — it  is  then  that  I  feel  the  Christ  to  be 
asleep.  It  is  the  dead  calm  that  startles  me. 
I  long  for  a  roll  of  thunder.  I  long  for  a  flash 
of  lightning.  I  long  for  a  gust  of  the  Lord's 
passion.  I  should  hail  the  voice  of  judgment  as 
a  joy. 
Why  sleepest  Thou,  O  Christ?    It  is  that  I 


THE   HOUR   OF   DIVINE   INERTNESS     159 

niay  wake  Thee.  Thy  sleep  is  for  my  refreshing, 
not  Thine.  If  I  saw  Thee  ever  on  the  deck,  I 
should  never  feel  my  need  of  Thee.  I  have  only 
learned  my  need  of  Thee  from  the  moments  of 
Thy  seeming  repose.  It  is  well  that  betimes  a 
father's  care  should  appear  to  slumber ;  it  gives 
margin  to  the  child's  freedom.  Thou  art  not 
eager,  O  my  Father,  to  beset  me  all  round  with 
Thy  presence.  Why  shouldst  Thou  be !  Thou 
wouldst  have  me  willing  in  the  day  of  Thy 
power.  It  is  not  obedience  Thou  desirest ;  it  is 
longing.  How  shall  I  long  for  Thee  unless 
I  have  moments  of  thirst — moments  when  the 
water  is  not  there !  If  I  dwell  for  ever  in  Thy 
beauty,  I  shall  never  know  Thy  beauty ;  I  must 
have  hours  of  eclipse  to  know  it.  "  Verily  Thou 
art  a  God  that  hidest  Thyself  ! "  cries  the  pro- 
phet. Why  not !  Thy  hiding  is  Thy  revealing. 
I  never  knew  I  loved  Thee  till  the  day  I  missed 
Thee  on  the  deck.  I  never  felt  how  dear  Thy 
presence  w^as  till  the  cloud  received  Thee  out 
of  my  sight.  I  never  panted  for  the  touch  of 
Thy  waking  hand  till  men  around  me  said,  "  He 
is  asleep."  That  sleep  of  Thine  has  been  the 
charm  of  all  my  voyage.  Thy  silence  told  me  of 
my  love.  I  learned  the  secret  when  I  missed 
Thee.  Thy  sleep  was  my  heart's  waking.  The 
cloud  that  hid  Thy  face  cleared  my  soul.  The 
darkness  rent  in  twain  the  veil  of  my  temple.     I 


160    THE   HOUR  OF  DIVINE  INERTNESS 

beard  the  music  of  Thy  voice  in  the  hour  in 
which  it  did  not  come.  I  bless  Thee,  O  Lord, 
that  there  was  silence  in  heaven  for  "  the  space 
of  half  an  hour. 


THE  DESIGN    OF    CHRISTIAN    SACRIFICE 

"When  the  burnt-oflfering  began,  the  song  of  the  Lord  began 
also." — 2  Chron.  xxix.  27. 

IT  is  not  often  that  a  sense  of  joy  co-exists 
with  a  sense  of  pain.  The  soldier  frequently 
hears  music  on  his  march  to  battle  and  feels 
himself  inspired  by  the  sound.  Yet  I  would 
not  call  this  a  co-existence  of  joy  with  the 
horrors  of  war.  For,  what  the  music  really 
does  is  to  divert  the  mind  from  that  horror.  It 
does  not  blot  out  the  terrors  of  the  battlefield ; 
it  rather  fixes  the  eye,  as  if  by  an  act  of 
hypnotism,  upon  something  outside  the  field. 
But  in  the  passage  before  us  there  is  symbolised 
a  peculiar  experience.  A  sacrifice  and  a  joy  run 
together  contemporaneously,  "  When  the  burnt- 
offering  began,  the  song  of  the  Lord  began." 
There  is  only  one  sphere  in  which  pain  weds  joy 
— the  sphere  of  the  Lord's  song.  The  song  of 
the    Lord    is    always    heard    at    the    sacrificial 

12  161 


162    DESIGN  OF  CHRISTIAN  SACRIFICE 

moment,  the  moment  when  self  is  crucified.  Do 
not  imagine  I  am  speaking  of  church  services. 
God's  altars  are  not  limited  to  churches.  That 
the  joy  comes  with  the  burnt-offering  is  as  true 
of  the  market-place  as  of  the  mission-field,  of 
the  social  hour  as  of  the  sacrament.  How  many- 
joys  are  lost  to  me  for  want  of  the  altar  of  self- 
sacrifice  !  How  often  do  I  miss  the  beauties 
of  a  book  because  I  am  jealous  of  the  writer ! 
How  often  do  I  lose  the  pleasure  of  a  song 
because  I  am  thinking  of  my  receipt  of  custom  ! 
How  often  does  the  murmur  of  my  heart 
drown  the  murmur  of  the  stream  !  My  burden 
arrests  the  brook ;  my  heaviness  obscures  the 
hill ;  my  tremor  strips  the  trees ;  my  worry 
bares  the  woods ;  my  nervous  flutter  withers 
the  flowers.  Can  anything  restore  the  music 
and  the  dancing,  can  anything  give  back  to 
these  objects  their  native  joy?  Yes — the  altar 
of  seK-sacrifice ;  the  song  will  begin  where  the 
offering  begins.  It  is  not  freedom  from  the 
world  I  need ;  it  is  freedom  from  myself.  The 
world  is  as  defrauded  as  God  is,  by  the  absence 
of  an  altar  in  my  soul.  The  creation  groaneth 
and  travaileth  because  its  beauties  are  unap- 
preciated; my  care  will  not  let  them  enter 
my  heart.  I  must  sacrifice  if  I  w^ould  sing.  I 
must  bury  myself  if  I  would  bloom.  I  must 
forget  my  fortunes  if   I  would  flower.     I  must 


DESIGN  OF  CHRISTIAN  SACRIFICE     163 

smite  self-love  if  I  would  smile.      I  must  lose 
my  life  if  I  would  learn  full  joy. 

Lord,  I  come  to  Thine  altar  not  as  other 
faiths  come  to  their  altar.  All  other  masters 
tell  me  to  come  that  I  may  hnmolate  myself ; 
Thou  biddest  me  come  that  I  may  replenish 
myself.  As  long  as  I  do  not  come  I  am 
immolated  already — robbed  of  half  my  joy. 
The  pleasures  of  the  world  are  unappropriated 
till  I  surrender  my  soul.  My  discontent  sees 
not  the  daisy ;  my  care  beholds  not  the  cowslip  ; 
my  sullenness  marks  not  the  sunbeam.  Envy 
dims  my  eye  to  human  loveliness.  Sordidness 
kills  my  sympathy  with  the  festive  hour.  Pride 
stills  my  pulses  to  earthly  brotherhood.  I  come 
to  Thine  altar  not  to  lose  but  to  get  back 
my  world.  That  moment  of  sacrifice  which 
makes  the  Buddhist  poor,  makes  me  rich.  Not 
to  unrobe  myself  do  I  pour  out  my  libation. 
Not  to  bury  the  sights  and  sounds  of  earth 
do  I  seek  Thine  altar.  I  seek  it  to  see  them 
better,  to  hear  them  better.  I  seek  it  because 
without  it  I  have  been  secluded  from  my  world 
— Thy  world.  I  seek  it  that  I  may  be  less  a 
hermit,  less  a  monk,  less  a  recluse.  I  seek  it 
that  I  may  be  more  fit  for  the  work  of  life— 
for  the  meeting  with  the  busy  crowd,  for  the 
conflict  in  the  field  of  commerce,  for  the  duties 
of    the   day   and   hour,   for   the   vicissitudes   of 


164    DESIGN   OF   CHRISTIAN   SACRIFICE 

the  dance  and  the  drawing-room,  for  the 
pleasures  of  the  gay  and  the  sorrows  of  the 
sad,  for  the  moments  of  my  victory  and  the 
scenes  of  my  defeat.  For  aU  these  things  what 
I  need  is  a  song  in  the  heart ;  and  the  song 
in  the  heart  wiU  begin  when  I  have  offered 
up  my  soul. 


LI 


THE   QUALIFICATION  CONFERRED  BY 
SUFFERING 

"  The  Lord  said  unto  Moses,  Lo,  I  come  unto  thee  in  a 
thick  cloud,  that  the  people  may  hear  when  I  speak  with 
thee,  and  beheve  thee  for  ever." — Exod.  xix,  9. 

WHEN  a  public  man  falls  into  adversity 
it  is  deemed  a  specially  sad  thing.  That 
any  life  should  be  overclouded  with  grief  is  to 
the  spectator  a  source  of  pain.  But  that  one 
whose  province  it  is  to  speak  to  the  people 
should  be  so  overclouded,  that  one  should  be 
thus  hampered  whose  services  to  mankind  are 
in  constant  request — this  seems  a  positive  waste. 
We  are  disposed  to  say,  "  If  God  wishes  this 
man  to  speak  to  the  people  and  to  be  a  source 
of  faith  to  the  people,  why  does  He  let  him 
be  overclouded,  why  does  He  not  leave  his 
energies  unimpaired  for  the  great  work  he  has 
to  do  ? "  The  passage  before  us  answers  that 
question.     It  says  that  for  such  a  man  an  ex- 

165 


166      QUALIFICATION  BY  SUFFERING 

perience  of  the  thick  cloud  is  itself  a  source 
of  power.  We  see  one  of  the  most  public  men 
that  ever  lived  made  to  pass  through  a  thick 
cloud.  We  are  told  that  this  thick  cloud,  so 
far  from  being  a  hiding  of  God,  was  the  very- 
coming  of  God  to  his  soul.  We  are  informed 
that  the  object  of  the  cloud  was  to  give  him 
greater  eloquence  as  a  speaker,  greater  force 
as  a  teacher,  greater  influence  as  a  leader.  And 
is  it  not  ever  so.  No  man  can  impress  his  re- 
ligion upon  his  brother  unless  he  himself  has 
met  God  in  the  cloud.  If  he  would  command 
the  belief  of  his  fellow-men  it  is  not  enough 
that  he  should  have  seen  God ;  he  must  have 
seen  Him  in  the  storm.  Has  he  lived  all  the 
day  in  a  garden.  Has  he  dwelt  amid  perennial 
fruits  and  flowers.  Has  he  basked  in  perpetual 
sunshine — beneath  skies  that  never  lower  and 
amid  faces  that  never  frown.  Then,  his  faith 
is  a  very  natural  thing,  but  it  is  in  no  sense 
an  evidential  thing ;  it  is  the  faith  of  a  child. 
What  the  world  wants  to  see  is  a  faith  that 
can  hold  by  a  God  who  walks  upon  the  waves 
— a  faith  that  has  not  been  sunk  in  the  surgings 
nor  broken  by  the  breezes.  It  finds  in  such  a 
faith  what  one  finds  in  a  commercial  bank 
which  has  borne  unhurt  the  strain  of  a  financial 
crisis.  Our  trust  is  in  proportion  to  the  thick- 
ness of  the  cloud  through  which  the  bank  was 


QUALIFICATION  BY  SUFFERING      167 

floated ;  we  lean  most  heavily  on  the  battered 
spar. 

My  soul,  despise  not  the  moments  of  thy 
clouding  !  Think  not  they  are  waste  moments 
— moments  that  have  withdrawn  thee  from  the 
stream  of  life  !  They  will  bring  thee  nearer  to 
the  stream  than  ever  thou  wouldst  have  been 
without  them.  They  are  at  present  a  solitude ; 
they  have  called  thee  into  a  desert  place  apart 
from  the  crowd.  But  hast  thou  never  read 
how  the  crowd  came  to  the  man  in  the  desert — 
to  John  in  the  wilderness.  Why  did  they  come 
to  him — the  man  clothed  in  camel's  hair,  the 
reed  broken  by  the  wind,  the  feeder  on  locusts 
and  wild  honey  ?  It  was  because  they  felt 
that  when  such  a  man  speaks  of  God  he  is 
worth  hearing.  They  felt  that,  when  a  battered 
soul  claims  to  see  an  opened  heaven  and  a 
descending  dove  of  peace,  there  must  be  some- 
thing to  be  said  for  God,  something  of  which 
the  world  knows  not.  It  was  because  he 
preached  "  in  the  wilderness "  that  men  came. 
They  came  to  see  the  marvel  of  a  faith  that 
could  Hve  on  so  poor  a  fare,  sing  to  so  bad  an 
accompaniment,  smile  in  so  mean  a  garb,  soar 
on  so  feeble  a  wing.  So,  my  soul,  shall  it  be 
with  thee.  Thy  desert  shall  be  thy  metropolis. 
Men  shall  throng  thee  because  of  thy  carol  in 
the  cloud.     The  sad  shall   listen   to   thy  night- 


168    QUALIFICATION  BY  SUFFERING 

song.  The  heart-sore  shall  hear  thine  evening 
hymn.  The  restless  shall  run  to  thy  rainhow. 
They  shall  point  to  the  light  in  the  valley. 
They  shall  gaze  at  the  diamond  in  the  dust. 
They  shall  view  the  high  rock  amid  the 
waves.  They  shall  mark  the  star  in  the 
darkness.  They  shall  hail  the  dove  in  the 
deluge.  They  shall  hear  the  music  on  the  waters. 
They  shall  be  glad  that  a  still  small  voice  can 
be  heard  amid  the  thunder  and  the  earthquake. 
Magnify  thy  cloud,  O  my  soul ! 


LH 
THE  LIVES  WITHOUT  RECORD 

"Thou  shalt  not  number  the  tribe  of  Levi.  The  Levitea 
shall  keep  the  charge  of  the  tabernacle  of  testimony." — NuM.-i. 
49,  53. 

"  rpiHOU  shalt  not  number  the  tribe  of  Levi." 
-L  Here  was  apparently  a  neglected  set  of 
men — a  class  overlooked  in  the  enrolment  of  the 
people.  They  were  to  be  uncounted,  discounted. 
A  spectator  would  have  said  they  were  a 
specimen  of  those  unfit  for  survival.  In  all  the 
work  of  the  nation  they  had  neither  part  nor 
lot.  We  read,  in  the  parable,  of  the  Levite 
passing  by  on  the  other  side ;  but  here  the 
Levite  seems  to  be  passed  by.  He  is  left  behind 
by  the  stream  of  the  world's  activities  ;  and, 
with  the  prophet,  the  beholder  is  disposed  to 
say  that  his  way  is  hid  from  the  Lord  and 
his  judgment  overlooked  by  his  God.  And  yet 
the  beholder  would  be  wrong.  These  men  have 
not  been   overlooked,   have    not  been   shunted 

169 


170      THE  LIVES  WITHOUT  RECORD 

from  the  race  of  life.  If  they  are  left  behind 
by  the  stream  it  is  because  there  is  a  special 
duty  to  do  which  can  only  be  done  by  those 
who  are  left  behind.  That  special  duty  is  to 
wait  and  watch.  The  Levites  are  to  "  keep 
charge  of  the  tabernacle  " — to  see  that  no  harm 
comes  to  the  ark  and  what  it  contains.  It 
seems  a  poor  service  w^hen  contrasted  with  the 
work  of  the  numbered.  In  reality  it  w^as  the 
greatest  service  of  all.  If  anything  had  befallen 
the  tabernacle,  Israel  would  have  collapsed 
immediately.  The  loss  of  ten  thousand  of  her 
soldiers  would  have  been  nothing  to  the  putting- 
out  of  her  altar  fire ;  the  one  might  have 
weakened  her  strength,  but  the  other  would 
have  killed  her  hope.  These  humble  watchers 
and  guardians  of  the  altar  fire  were  not  on  the 
communion  roll ;  but  they  were  doing  service 
without  which  the  roll  w^ould  have  been  dis- 
membered. They  did  not  build  the  houses  nor 
fight  the  battles  nor  plant  the  vineyards ;  but 
they  watched  over  the  safety  of  that  for  whose 
sake  all  houses  were  built,  all  battles  fought, 
all  vineyards  planted — the  inner  shrine  of  the 
sanctuary — the  consecration  of  the  hearth  and 
home. 

Thou  who  art  unnumbered  among  the  people, 
thou  to  whom  there  has  been  assigned  no  active 
work,  there  is  a  message  here  for  thee.     There 


THE  LIVES  WITHOUT  RECORD       171 

is  a  service  for  the  unnumbered — for  those  who 
only  stand  and  wait.  There  are  Levites  as  well 
as  priests  in  the  temple  of  thy  Father.  There 
are  those  who  have  been  laid  aside  from  active 
duty — who  have  no  district  to  visit  in,  no 
church  to  preach  in,  no  mission  to  serve  in. 
Through  sickness,  through  poverty,  through  the 
requirement  to  attend  on  others,  they  have 
been  retained  indoors — their  names  are  not 
enrolled.  Weep  not  that  thou  art  among  these  ! 
Lament  not  that  thy  life  has  been  lived  behind 
the  scenes  !  It  is  behind  the  scenes  that  all 
great  things  are  born.  There  is  no  influence 
like  that  which  lights  the  domestic  fire.  I  know 
something  better  than  to  be  numbered  among 
the  people  ;  it  is  to  fit  men  for  being  numbered. 
That  work  may  be  thine.  Where  are  men  made 
fit  for  being  numbered?  Is  it  not  Just  by  the 
household  fire,  around  the  family  altar.  Within 
that  sphere  the  most  broken  human  life  is  often 
the  most  powerful  educator.  Many  a  patient 
sufferer  has  trained  her  son  to  be  a  soldier — 
trained  him  by  the  very  sight  of  her  patience. 
Many  a  fireside  existence  has  taught  the  belief 
in  immortality — taught  it  by  the  mere  spectacle 
of  moral  beauty.  Jacob  has  gained  more  by 
his  night  vigil  than  by  his  merchandise.  His 
deeds  in  the  exchange  never  touched  the  world; 
but  the  world  has  been  wakened  by  his  vision 


172      THE  LIVES  WITHOUT  RECORD 

on  the  couch  of  clay.  He  has  bloomed  in  his 
brokenness ;  he  has  conquered  in  his  conceal- 
ment ;  he  has  flourished  in  his  f  i  ailty ;  he  has 
soared  in  his  silence ;  he  has  reigned  in  his 
repose ;  he  has  prevailed  in  his  prostration ;  he 
has  found  his  ladder  in  a  lowly  place.  Despise 
not,  my  soul,  the  days  that  have  no  record ! 


LIII 
THE    BASIS    OF    ANSWER    TO    PRAYER 

"  From  the  first  day  that  thou  didst  set  thine  heart   to 
understand,  thy  words  were  heard." — Dan.  x.  12. 

THE  thought  seems  to  me  a  very  remarkable 
one.  It  is  the  averment  that  the  com- 
munion between  God  and  man  requires  a 
railroad.  "  From  the  first  day  that  thou  didst 
set  thine  heart  to  understand,  thy  words  were 
heard."  What  has  God's  hearing  to  do  with 
my  understanding?  Why  should  His  answer 
to  my  message  be  in  proportion  to  my 
intelligence  ?  Because  in  the  world  of  prayer 
there  can  be  no  wireless  telegraphy.  That  is 
as  true  of  man's  requests  to  man  as  of  man's 
requests  to  God.  The  strength  of  any  appeal 
which  I  make  to  you  depends,  not  on  the  loud- 
ness of  my  cry,  but  on  the  community  of  my 
sympathy.  The  ear  which  listens  to  a  petition 
is  always  the  sympathetic  ear ;  and  the  basis 
of  all  sympathy  is  a  common  want.     On  what 

173 


174       BASIS  OF  ANSWER  TO  PRAYER 

ground  does  God  hear  the  cry,  "  Give  us  this 
day  our  daily  bread  "  ?  I  am  not  afraid  to  say 
it  is  on  the  ground  of  a  common  want — hunger. 
God  has  the  hunger  of  the  heart — love.  It  is 
by  that  hunger  He  hears  the  voice  of  your 
destitution  ;  the  common  understanding  makes 
your  words  audible,  answerable.  There  are 
said  to  be  things  w^hich  God  "  knoweth  afar 
off."  What  things  are  these  ?  They  are  the 
things  outside  of  His  sympathy.  I  think  that  in 
the  next  world  we  shall  have  a  new  measure- 
ment of  distance.  We  estimate  distance  here 
by  miles  of  space  ;  we  shall  estimate  it  yonder 
by  miles  of  sympathy.  The  messages  from 
mind  to  mind  may  travel  quick  or  slow ;  but 
whether  they  travel  quick  or  slow  does  not 
depend  on  the  space ;  it  depends  on  the  spirit. 
Place  Judas  beside  John,  and  place  Nathanael 
at  the  other  side  of  the  universe.  Let  John 
send  two  messages  on  the  wings  of  thought 
— one  to  Judas  and  the  other  to  Nathanael. 
I  feel  sure  that  the  message  from  John  to 
Nathanael  will  reach  its  goal  long  before  the 
message  from  John  to  Judas.  For,  John  and 
Nathanael  are  near  neighbours  in  the  spiritual 
world.  There  is  no  sea  between  them — not 
though  material  oceans  intervene,  not  though 
continents  divide.  But  the  drying-up  of  an 
intervening  ocean  would   not   bring   John   and 


BASIS  OF  ANSWER  TO  PRAYER       175 

Judas  near.  The  gulf  between  Dives  and 
Lazarus  is  not  a  sheet  of  water ;  it  is  a  dif- 
ference of  soul. 

My  God,  I  am  often  appalled  by  the  sense 
of  material  distance  between  my  soul  and  Thee. 
It  seems  as  if  my  prayer  had  too  far  to  travel. 
I  say  with  one  of  Thy  servants,  "  What  is  man 
that  Thou  shouldst  be  mindful  of  him ! "  I 
stand  beneath  the  Hghts  of  the  firmament  and 
tremble ;  my  heart  fails  in  the  presence  of 
Thy  heavens.  I  have  read  that  Thy  disciples 
cried,  "Lord,  teach  us  to  pray!"  In  the  light 
of  this  modern  universe  I  have  even  more  need 
of  the  lesson  than  they.  How  shall  I  escape 
this  modern  universe  w^ith  its  boundless  spaces 
and  its  measureless  heights  ?  Can  I  get  back 
to  the  old  world — the  world  where  earth  was 
the  centre  and  all  things  circled  round  it  ?  No, 
I  can  never  do  that  any  more.  But  Thou  canst 
lead  me  to  prayer  by  a  more  excellent  way. 
Instead  of  leading  me  back,  lead  me  forward  ! 
Make  me,  not  less  modern,  but  more !  Let 
me  learn  the  secret  of  prayer,  not  by  becoming 
old-fashioned,  but  by  foreseeing  the  coming 
fashion,  the  newest  fashion !  Teach  me  how 
distance  will  be  measured  in  the  world  to  come  ! 
Teach  me  that  in  Thy  world  all  likeness  is 
nearness !  Teach  me  that  all  sympathetic  souls 
touch  !     Teach  me  why  these  words  are  written, 


176       BASIS  OF  ANSWER  TO  PRAYER 

"  He  is  near  to  all  that  call  upon  Him  "  !  My 
call  is  my  chariot.  My  prayer  is  not  my  cry 
to  Thee ;  it  is  my  flight  to  Thee.  My  wish  is 
my  way;  my  longing  is  my  locomotion.  I  sail 
by  every  sigh ;  I  near  by  every  need ;  I  am 
winged  for  Thee  by  every  want  of  Thee. 
Through  the  voidness  of  my  soul  without  Thee 
do  I  voyage  to  Thy  home  ;  every  stage  of  my 
joy  is  a  stage  of  my  journey.  The  movement 
of  my  heart  is  the  short  road  to  Paradise ;  there 
is  no  space  to  them  that  fear  Thee. 


LIV 

INDIFFERENCE 

"  Woe  to  them  that  are  at  ease  in  Zion  1 " — Amos  vi.  1. 

THE  saddest  thing  in  this  world  is  indiffer- 
ence. It  is  sadder  than  any  heresy,  than 
any  false  belief — I  would  even  say,  than  any 
honest  U7iheliei.  The  mind  that  has  struggled 
into  rest  is  to  be  envied ;  the  mind  that  has 
struggled  without  finding  rest  is  to  be  appre- 
ciated ;  but  the  mind  that  has  never  experienced 
any  struggle  is  to  be  pitied.  The  seer  of 
Patmos  says  that  if  a  man  is  not  hot  he  had 
better  be  cold.  I  think  he  is  right.  I  can 
understand  a  man  looking  at  Nature  and 
believing ;  I  can  understand  a  man  looking  at 
Nature  and  doubting  ;  but  I  cannot  understand 
a  man  not  looking  at  Nature  at  all.  That 
wonder  should  turn  to  worship  is  natural ;  that 
wonder  should  lead  to  scepticism  is  possible ; 
but  that  a  mind  should  exist  without  wonder 
is  inconceivable — it  can  only  be  explained  by  a 


178  INDIFFERENCE 

want  in  the  mind  itself.  And  if  indifference  ia 
the  saddest  of  all  things,  it  is  beyond  measure 
sad  w^hen  it  occurs  in  serious  circumstances.  To 
be  at  ease  is,  for  a  mind,  never  a  high  thing ; 
but  to  be  "at  ease  in  Zion" — that  is  an  awful 
calamity  !  It  is  like  laughter  in  the  midst  of  a 
funeral  ;  it  is  like  Wordsworth's  little  girl 
dancing  round  the  grave.  Frivolity  is  a  sad 
spectacle  at  all  times;  but  in  the  presence  of 
great  things  it  is  specially  sad.  To  be  frivolous 
under  the  awful  dome  of  night,  to  be  frivolous 
amid  the  products  of  the  artist,  to  be  frivolous 
in  an  hour  of  national  triumph,  to  be  frivolous  in 
a  season  of  earthly  calamity,  to  be  frivolous 
when  in  any  form  the  glory  or  the  shadow  of 
God  is  passing  by — that  is  to  be  less  than  man, 
for  that  is  to  be  at  ease  in  Zion. 

Lord,  I  often  lament  that  this  human  soul  of 
mine  is  the  most  burdened  creature  in  the 
universe.  I  often  contrast  my  care  with  the 
lark's  carol  and  my  sigh  with  the  nightingale's 
song.  Teach  me  that  my  burden  is  my  glory ! 
Teach  me  that  I  am  not  "  at  ease  in  Zion  "  just 
because  I  am  "  in  Zion "  !  The  shadow  that 
dims  my  sight  is  Thy  shadow  ;  the  weight  that 
impedes  my  wing  is  my  sense  of  Thee.  I  should 
be  more  reckless  if  I  were  less  responsible.  If  I 
were  not  my  brother's  keeper  I  too  might  have 
perpetual  song.     But  with  that  weight  upon  me, 


INDIFFERENCE  179 

I  cannot.  Would  I  have  it  otherwise,  my 
Father  ?  No — a  thousand  times  no  !  I  would 
rather  walk  with  Thee  in  the  shade  than  soar 
with  the  lark  in  the  light.  My  care  is  better 
than  a  carol,  my  sigh  is  better  than  a  song.  I 
have  seen  the  King  in  His  beauty ;  therefore  I 
pity  the  slave  in  his  deformity.  I  have  heard 
Thy  far-o£P  music ;  therefore  earth's  discords 
grate  upon  my  ear.  I  have  gazed  upon  Thy 
spotless  robe ;  therefore  my  brother's  rags  rend 
me.  Thy  rainbow  brings  my  flood.  It  is  Thy 
beauty  makes  my  burden  ;  it  is  Thy  glory 
makes  my  gloom  ;  it  is  Thy  nearness  makes  my 
night.  Shall  I  not  take  Thy  yoke  upon  me — the 
yoke  that  comes  from  seeing  Thee !  Shall  I 
refuse  the  pain  Thy  child  alone  can  feel !  Shall 
I  reject  that  pressure  of  the  heart  which  comes 
only  to  him  on  whom  Thou  hast  laid  Thy  hand  ! 
Nay,  my  Father ;  rather  would  I  abide  with 
Thee  and  bear  Thy  shadows  in  my  soul.  To  lose 
the  ease  of  the  lark  is  the  price  I  pay  for  Zion. 


LV 

THE    PARADOX    OF   CHRIST'S 
PERMANENCE 

"  I  saw  another  angel  fly  in  the  midst  of  heaven,  having  the 
everlasting  gospel." — Eev.  xiv.  6. 

THERE  is  to  my  mind  a  strange  paradox  in 
these  words.  It  lies  in  the  seeming  con- 
tradiction between  the  word  "  fly  "  and  the  word 
"everlasting."  That  which  is  flying  or  fleeting 
is  commonly  reckoned  the  opposite  of  that 
which  is  everlasting  or  permanent.  The  act  of 
flight  suggests  mutability — change  of  sphere, 
alteration  of  environment.  The  angel  whom 
St.  John  sees  in  the  midst  of  heaven  is  not  a 
stationary  form  ;  he  is  in  continual  movement ; 
he  is  "  flying."  And  yet,  in  his  hand  there  is 
something  which  is  not  moving — something 
which  is  constant,  changeless,  invariable — the 
everlasting  gospel.  How  are  we  to  account  for 
this  strange  conjunction  of  opposite  things? 
By   an   appeal   to   experience.     The   test   of  all 

180 


CHRIST'S  PERMANENCE  181 

permanence  is  the  shifting  character  of  the 
surrounding  scene.  If  you  could  imagine  a  land 
where  the  wind  never  blew,  where  the  floods 
never  rose,  where  the  wing  of  bird  never 
fluttered,  where  the  foot  of  man  or  beast  never 
trod,  there  would  be  no  wonder  in  hearing  that 
a  scroll  of  paper  had  remained  there  in  the  same 
spot  for  years.  But  if  you  were  told  that 
the  scroll  of  paper  had  remained  while  the  wind 
was  boisterous,  while  inundations  were  preva- 
lent, while  feet  many  and  rapid  were  scouring 
the  way,  you  would  deem  it  a  great  marvel. 
And  why  ?  Because  it  would  be  the  changeless 
amid  the  mutable,  the  permanent  amid  the 
fleeting,  the  abiding  force  amid  a  transition 
scene.  That  is  the  everlastingness  which  St. 
John  saw  in  the  gospel ;  that  is  the  everlasting- 
ness which  you  can  see  this  day.  The  Buddhist 
is  older  than  the  Christian ;  but  his  angel  is  not 
"  flying."  His  angel  has  no  wings.  Men  are  all 
dead  in  the  land  of  the  Buddhist.  The  heavens 
are  windless,  the  seas  are  waveless,  the  hearts 
are  pulseless.  But  my  Christ  is  on  the  wave, 
my  Christ  is  amid  the  storm.  He  is  out  on  the 
troubled  waters  and  is  not  drowned ;  He  is 
wrapped  in  the  fiery  furnace  and  is  not  hurt. 
Buddha  survives  in  Asia ;  Jesus  persists  in 
Europe.  Buddha  watches  the  sleepers ;  Jesus 
endures   the  wakeful.     Buddha  keeps  the  trees 


182  CHRIST'S   PERMANENCE 

of  the  garden ;  Jesus  keeps  the  hearts  of  the 
wayward.  Buddha  rests  on  a  lake  ;  Jesus 
walks  on  the  sea. 

Jesus,  let  me  come  to  Thee  on  the  waters  ! 
The  only  permanence  I  value  is  permanence  on 
the  waters.  I  have  heard  of  the  wonderful 
duration  of  buried  cities — of  Pompeii,  of  Her- 
culaneum,  of  Nineveh.  I  do  not  value  that 
permanence  ;  they  endure  because  the  air  is 
excluded,  because  friction  is  excluded.  But  I 
want  something  that  can  last  spite  of  air,  spite 
of  friction,  spite  of  resistance — something  which 
can  get  through  when  the  doors  are  shut.  I 
can  get  many  to  abide  with  me  under  a  sky  of 
changeless  blue.  But  w^hen  fast  falls  the  even- 
tide, when  the  darkness  deepens,  when  change 
and  decay  in  all  around  I  see,  then  gods  and 
men  alike  flee  away.  Not  so  Thou,  my  Christ ! 
Thou  goest  not  down  with  my  sun,  Thou  goest 
not  back  with  my  tide.  I  can  say  to  other 
masters,  "  Abide  with  me  in  the  desert " ;  to 
Thee  I  say,  "Abide  with  me  in  the  city."  I 
want  Thee  for  the  place  where  the  angel  is 
flying — where  events  move  rapidly.  I  want 
Thee  for  changes  of  the  day — for  vicissitudes 
of  the  hour.  I  want  Thee  for  my  fleeting 
moments,  my  shifting  scenes,  my  varying 
fortunes.  I  want  Thee  for  my  weakness  and 
my  weariness,  for  my  trifles   and   my  troubles, 


CHRIST'S  PERMANENCE  183 

for  my  searchings  and  my  sighings,  for  my 
pains  and  my  perils,  for  my  tempests  and  my 
tears.  I  want  Thee  for  life's  transitions — from 
Cana  to  Calvary,  from  Bethlehem  to  Bethany, 
from  Galilee  to  Gethsemane.  I  w^ant  Thee  for 
the  path  which  the  Buddhist  cannot  tread ; 
"Bid  me  that  I  come  to  Thee  on  the  waters!" 


LVI 

THE  TRUE  BROAD-CHURCH 

"  He  shall  turn  the  heart  of  the  fathers  to  the  children,  and 
the  heart  of  the  children  to  their  fathers." — Mai.,  iv.  6. 

MY  first  interpretation  of  this  passage  "was, 
"  When  the  Messiah  comes,  He  will  con- 
secrate the  relations  of  family  life."  But  on 
reflection  I  remembered  that  family  life  was 
consecrated  before  Christ's  coming — specially 
consecrated  by  the  Jew.  I  have  changed  my 
view,  therefore,  of  the  meaning  of  these  words. 
Is  not  this  their  real  significance — "  When  the 
Messiah's  w^ork  is  inaugurated,  there  will  be 
established  a  sympathy  between  the  genera- 
tion going  out  and  the  generation  coming  in — 
between  the  old  faith  and  the  new."  In  the 
natural  heart  it  is  very  difficult  to  get  a  sym- 
pathy between  the  views  of  the  fathers  and 
the  views  of  the  children.  The  fathers  think 
the  children  too  broad ;  the  children  think  the 
fathers  too  narrow.     There  is  only  one  way  of 

184 


THE  TRUE   BROAD-CHURCH  185 

reconciling  them,  and  that  is  the  Christian  rule 
of  putting  one's  self  in  the  place  of  another. 
If  the  child  could  live  in  the  father's  experience, 
it  would  see  that  the  old  doctrine  is  the  only- 
thing  fitted  to  the  father  ;  if  the  father  could 
live  in  the  child's  experience,  he  would  see  that 
the  new  doctrine  is  the  only  thing  fitted  to  the 
child.  Each  would  perceive  that  both  faiths  are 
"  beautiful  in  their  time."  But  to  get  that,  you 
must  have  Christ.  To  put  myself  in  your  place 
is  a  most  unselfish  act.  To  see  a  thing,  not  as 
it  is,  but  as  you  see  it,  to  live  in  your  thought,  to 
feel  with  your  heart,  to  struggle,  in  fancy,  with 
the  sense  of  your  limitations,  to  make  allowance 
for  the  changes  of  the  years  and  the  shifting  of 
the  scenes — that  requires  the  spirit  of  Him  who 
put  Himself  in  the  place  of  sinners. 

Teach  us,  O  Lord,  the  spirit  of  charity  for 
views  not  our  own  !  We  preach  charity  towards 
human  wants.  We  preach  charity  towards 
human  deeds.  But  we  neither  preach  nor  prac- 
tise charity  towards  human  opinions.  We  speak 
of  the  Broad-Church  and  the  Narrow ;  but  in 
truth  we  are  all  narrow — alike  the  old  and  the 
new.  Teach  us  that  whatever  excludes  the 
mental  need  of  another  is  narrow !  Tell  the 
fathers  that  they  are  narrow  when  they  refuse 
to  let  the  children  extend  the  old  field  !  Tell 
the   children  that  they  are  narrow  when  they 


186         THE  TRUE   BROAD-CHURCH 

refuse  to  include  in  the  new  field  the  ground 
trod  by  their  fathers  !  Let  the  old  men  throw 
themselves  forward ;  let  the  young  men  throw 
themselves  back !  I  used  to  think  that  youth 
was  the  time  for  hope,  and  age  the  time  for 
memory.  But  in  the  light  of  Thy  truth  I  seem 
to  learn  otherwise ;  it  is  age  that  needs  hope, 
and  youth  that  needs  memory.  Give  hope  to 
age,  O  Lord — power  to  look  forward  to  the 
possibilities  of  to-morrow!  Give  memory  to 
youth,  O  Lord — power  to  look  backward  to  the 
limits  of  yesterday  !  Give  the  fathers  the  wing 
of  anticipation;  give  the  children  the  wing  of 
retrospect !  Say  to  the  one,  "  Arise  and  depart, 
for  this  is  not  your  rest "  ;  say  to  the  other, 
"  Son,  remember "  !  Breathe  upon  the  fathers 
the  spirit  of  the  world  to  come :  breathe  upon 
the  children  the  spirit  of  the  world  that  is  past ! 
Reveal  to  the  old  that  their  life  is  but  in  its 
morning ;  reveal  to  the  young  that  they  cannot 
forget  yesterday's  afternoon  !  Point  the  autumn 
to  the  rising,  the  spring  to  the  setting,  sun ! 
Then  shall  the  heart  of  the  fathers  and  the  heart 
of  the  children  meet  together,  and  the  old  and 
the  new  shall  be   joined  in   one  wedding  ring. 


Lvn 

THE  PRIESTHOOD  OF  GOD 

"The  Lord  hath  prepared  a  sacrifice." — 2^pe.  i.  7. 

WHAT  is  the  unique  feature  in  Christianity? 
Not  the  Doctrine  of  the  Trinity — you  will 
find  that  in  India.  Not  the  Doctrine  of  the 
Divine  in  the  human — you  will  find  that  in 
Greece.  Not  the  recognition  of  a  Spirit  of  God — 
you  will  find  that  in  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis. 
Not  the  faith  in  immortality — you  will  find  that 
in  Egypt.  Not  the  offering  up  of  sacrifice  by 
man — you  will  find  that  in  every  heathen 
worship.  But  there  is  one  thing  which  you  will 
find  only  in  Christianity.  Every  other  worship 
speaks  of  man  offering  to  God;  in  Christ  we 
have  the  startling  paradox  of  God  offering  to 
man.  "  The  Lord  hath  prepared  a  sacrifice." 
That  is  a  new  prophetic  note  in  the  faiths 
of  the  world.  All  the  nations  had  been  bring- 
ing their  sacrifices  to  Him;  here  He  brings 
His  sacrifice  to  them.  Imagine  a  state  of 
things     in    which     the     injured     had     to    pay. 

187 


188         THE   PRIESTHOOD   OF   GOD 

Imagine  a  constitution  of  society  in  which  the 
assaulted  man  was  the  man  who  had  to  make 
reparation  for  the  fray — had  to  offer  a  sacrifice 
in  expiation  of  the  fault  of  others.  *'  What  a 
fantastic  conception  !  "  you  say.  And  yet  if 
you  could  imagine  a  world  in  which  the  injured 
man  was  always  the  man  of  love,  this  would 
become  the  common  experience.  Indeed,  with 
all  our  talk  about  the  sacrifice  that  waits  on  sin, 
you  will  find  that  it  is  the  sinless  who  pay.  It  is 
not  on  the  guilty  that  the  deepest  sacrifice  falls, 
even  where  the  guilty  are  punished.  It  is  the 
innocent  who  suffer  most.  One  of  the  Jewish 
psalmists  cries,  "  Rivers  of  waters  run  down 
mine  eyes,  because  they  keep  not  Thy  law."  It 
is  the  cry  of  every  good  father  in  the  moment  of 
a  son's  disgrace.  It  says,  "  /  am  the  real  victim; 
/  am  the  true  object  for  pity  ;  on  me  the  actual 
penalty  falls."  Sin's  victim  is  ever  the  purest. 
It  is  the  lamb  without  spot  that  suffers.  When 
you  pierce  the  guilty,  it  is  another  s  heart  that 
bleeds.  When  you  smite  the  sinner,  it  is  another's 
voice  that  weeps.  When  you  sentence  the  man 
of  crime,  it  is  another's  soul  that  is  weighted 
with  sorrow^.  The  sins  against  love  are  borne 
by  the  loving. 

O  Lord  my  God,  Thou  art  the  victim  of  this 
w^orld's  sin.  To  Thee  belongs  its  sacrifice,  on 
Thee  its  bitter  cross  is  laid.     Thy  spotless  love 


THE   PRIESTHOOD   OF   GOD  189 

makes  Thine  the  penalty.  "  There  was  no  other 
good  enough  to  pay  the  price  of  sin."  If  there 
had  been  another  love  like  Thine,  there  would 
have  been  another  suffering  like  Thine  ;  but 
there  was  none ;  therefore  Thou  hast  trodden  the 
winepress  alone.  Mine  has  been  the  guilt,  but 
Thine  has  been  the  pain.  Thou  hast  bled  where 
I  blushed  not  ;  Thou  hast  groaned  where  I 
grieved  not ;  Thou  hast  sorrowed  where  I  sighed 
not.  Deeds  that  broke  not  my  rest  have  broken 
Thy  heart.  Memories  that  brought  me  no  care 
have  brought  Thee  a  cross.  Retrospects  that 
suggest  to  me  no  stain  have  left  in  Thee  a  sting. 
Thy  love  has  lifted  my  liabilities.  Thy  pity  has 
appropriated  my  penalties.  Thy  devotion  has 
discharged  my  defalcations.  Thou  hast  become 
answerable  for  my  debts  to  man.  I  hear 
men  say,  "Jesus  paid  it  all."  Yes,  and  He  is 
paying  still.  It  is  the  Divine  that  repairs  the 
rents  of  the  human.  Thou  healest  those  whom 
I  have  wounded.  Thou  cleansest  those  whom 
I  have  stained.  Thou  lightest  those  whom 
I  have  darkened.  Thou  restest  those  whom  I 
have  ruffled.  Thou  receivest  those  whom  I  have 
expelled.  Thou  crownest  those  whom  I  have 
contemned.  Thou  usest  those  whom  I  have  re- 
jected. Thou  leadest  those  whom  I  have  caused 
to  stray.  Mine,  O  Lord,  is  the  sin,  but  Thine  is 
the  sacrifice 


LVIII 
THE   GLORY  IN  THE   GLOOM 

"  We  have  also  a  more  sure  word  of  prophecy,  whereunto  ye 
do  well  that  ye  take  heed,  as  unto  a  light  that  shineth  in  a 
dark  place." — 2  Pex  i.  19. 

THERE  is  nothing  which  predicts  greatness 
so  strongly  as  a  light  shining  in  a  dark 
place.  If  you  saw  a  youth  who  had  been  bred 
in  poverty,  who  had  lived  in  squalor,  who  was 
surrounded  with  the  meanest  companions  and 
environed  by  the  most  ignoble  associations, 
and  w^ho  yet  in  every  feature  and  movement 
betrayed  an  aristocratic  air,  w^hat  would  you 
conclude?  That  his  ancestors  had  seen  better 
days,  that  he  was  born  to  better  things,  that 
he  would  probably  rise  to  better  circum- 
stances. You  would  conclude  this  by  reason  of 
the  present  darkness.  You  would  see  nothing 
in  the  present  to  account  for  these  flashes. 
If    he    had    been    surrounded    by   culture,    the 

190 


THE   GLORY   IN   THE   GLOOM         191 

flashes  would  prove  nothing  as  to  his  origin ; 
education  would  explain  them.  But  when 
these  have  come  forth  out  of  darkness,  when 
there  is  nothing  around  to  elicit  them,  when 
they  are  in  manifest  contrast  to  their  environ- 
ment, you  know  assuredly  that  they  are  the 
proof  of  a  lofty  birth.  Now,  this  is  exactly 
the  state  of  the  human  soul.  The  light  within 
the  soul  comes  from  its  darkest  place.  What 
is  the  darkest  place  of  the  soul  ?  It  is  sin. 
That  is  the  ignoble  corner,  the  gloomy  cham- 
ber, the  unhallowed  room.  Yet  it  is  in  this 
room  that  the  prophetic  glory  shines.  As  it 
shone  out  on  Bethlehem's  midnight,  so  shines 
it  on  the  midnight  of  the  spirit.  It  is  from 
my  sense  of  sin  that  my  sense  of  greatness 
comes.  Where  do  I  get  my  sense  of  sin? 
It  cannot  be  from  sin  itself.  Can  darkness 
see  darkness  !  Can  impurity  read  impurity  ! 
Can  the  dead  speak  to  the  dead !  If  the 
prodigal  can  detect  his  own  rags  in  a  world 
where  all  are  prodigals,  surely  he  must  have 
in  him  the  heredity  of  another  world  !  Surely 
he  must  have  somewhere  gazed  on  a  seam- 
less robe  and  a  spotless  vesture !  Surely 
he  must  have  been  born  to  wear  the  gar- 
ment of  Christ's  righteousness  and  to  be 
clothed  in  the  livery  of  the  House  of 
God! 


192        THE   GLORY  IN  THE   GLOOM 

O  Lord,  I  thank  Thee  that  Thou  hast  made 
my  weak  spot  the  revealer  of  my  strength. 
I  thank  Thee  that  in  my  darkest  place  I  have 
learned  the  secret  of  my  greatness.  My  hour 
of  sorest  pain,  my  hour  of  deepest  humilia- 
tion, has  been  the  hour  which  has  whispered 
the  tidings  of  my  birth.  There  is  a  part  of 
my  house  in  ruins — the  moral  part ;  but  it  is 
through  these  broken  walls  I  hear  the  music. 
How  do  I  know  that  Thou  hast  an  interest 
in  ray  soul?  Is  it  from  the  unhurt  powers  of 
my  nature?  No.  Imagination  could  not  tell 
me ;  it  shows  me  such  a  vast  world  that  I 
cry,  "  What  is  man ! "  Reason  could  not  tell 
me ;  it  cannot  reach  beyond  the  steps  of  its 
own  ladder.  The  sense  of  beauty  could  not 
tell  me ;  that  has  no  voice  for  natures  not 
sublime.  But  the  wounded  conscience  tells 
me.  None  but  Jacob's  angel  could  inflict  that 
wound — no  hand  but  Thine,  O  Lord.  My  re- 
morse is  Thy  remembrance  of  me  ;  my  pain  is 
Thy  pity  for  me;  my  groaning  is  Thy  grief 
for  me.  Thou  art  never  so  near  to  me  as  in 
my  moral  storm.  Could  I  hear  that  storm  if 
Thy  feet  were  not  on  the  sea !  Nay,  my 
Christ,  it  is  Thou  that  wakest  my  tempest ; 
it  is  Thou  that  stirrest  my  soul;  it  is 
Thou  that  breakest  my  peace  of  death.  My 
cloud  is    Thy    shadow.       The    wind    upon    my 


THE   GLORY  IN   THE  GLOOM  193 

sea  has  been  wafted  by  Thy  wings  ;  it  is 
Thy  Spirit  that  moves  on  the  face  of  my 
waters.  I  have  seen  the  surrounding  dark- 
ness because  Thou  hast  said,  "Let  there  be 
light  I" 


14 


LIX 

THE  MARRIAGE  OF  HEAVEN  AND 
EARTH 

"  I  saw  the  New  Jerusalem,  coming  down  out  of  heaven, 
prepared  as  a  bride  adorned  for  her  husband." — Eev.  xxi.  2. 

THE  poet  Herbert  speaks  of  a  beautiful 
day  as  "  the  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky." 
I  think  the  same  description  might  apply  to 
this  passage  in  Revelation.  What  the  seer 
beheld  in  this  vision  was  the  adaptation  of 
heaven  to  the  wants  of  earth ;  that  is  really, 
I  think,  what  is  implied  in  the  "coming 
down."  We  should  have  expected  a  con- 
verse spectacle.  We  should  have  looked  for 
words  like  these :  "  I  saw  the  earth  ascend 
into  the  air  until  it  was  lost  and  overshadowed 
in  a  blaze  of  heavenly  glory."  All  religions 
have  sought  a  union  of  heaven  and  earth ; 
but  they  have  commonly  sought  it  by  the 
absorption  of  earth,  not  by  the  stooping  of 
heaven.     They  have   said,   ♦'  You   must   accom- 


MAKRIAGE  OF  HEAVEN  AND  EARTH    195 

modate  yourself  to  the  New  Jerusalem ;  you 
must  not  expect  the  New  Jerusalem  to  come 
down  to  ymi."  We  are  constantly  told  to  pre- 
pare to  meet  our  God  ;  it  is,  indeed,  the  typi- 
cal command  of  the  old  dispensation.  But  the 
watchword  of  the  new  is  the  opposite  of  this; 
it  is,  "I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you."  One 
half  our  dread  of  death  is  the  belief  that  the 
preparation  must  be  all  on  the  human  side. 
It  never  occurs  to  us  that,  if  man  prepares 
to  meet  God,  God  equally  prepares  to  meet 
man.  It  is  not  enough  that  our  future  should 
be  in  a  scene  of  grandeur ;  it  must  be  in  a 
descending  grandeur — the  New  Jerusalem  must 
"  come  down."  It  must  come  with  a  marriage 
ring,  "  as  a  bride  adorned  for  her  husband." 
My  wants  must  find  their  object.  Many  of  my 
desires  have  never  been  mated  here — I  doubt 
if  any  has  found  its  perfect  ring.  The  eye  has 
never  seen  the  beauty  which  the  fancy  has  not 
transcended.  The  ear  has  never  heard  the 
music  which  the  thought  has  not  excelled. 
The  hand  has  never  achieved  the  w^ork  which 
has  left  no  flaw  behind.  The  feet  have  never 
pursued  a  pleasure  which  has  not  faded  in  an 
hour.  All  these  have  found  imperfect  wedding 
bells.  But  the  heart,  the  heart — where  has  its 
marriage  been  !  Has  love  been  satisfied  below  1 
Has  not  her  marriage  ring  been  broken  even 


196    MARRIAGE  OF  HEAVEN  AND  EARTH 

on  the  bridal  morn !  Where  is  its  promised 
permanence !  Where  is  its  chanted  change- 
lessness  !  Where  is  its  fancied  claim  to  a  fade- 
less crown !  The  desires  of  the  heart  have 
never  found  their  bridal  day. 

My  soul,  O  Lord,  is  incomplete  without  Thee. 
It  is  not  that  without  Thee  I  have  too  much 
of  earth ;  it  is  the  reverse  of  that — I  have  too 
little.  Eden  has  only  yielded  us  half  an  apple 
after  all.  Earth  has  never  finished  her  own 
buildings ;  in  her  best  structures  there  is 
always  wanting  a  little  stone.  This  world  is 
full  of  unmarried  things— unfinished  har- 
monies, unroofed  dwellings,  unfulfilled  desires. 
I  ^vould  fain  see  these  completed,  O  my  God. 
I  know  that  there  are  structures  more  mag- 
nificent than  these ;  but  they  are  also  more 
unearthly,  and  earth  is  my  native  land. 
Therefore  I  would  rather  complete  these  than 
build  the  new.  Let  thy  Jerusalem  come  dotvn 
— come  down  and  supplement  the  earth !  I 
would  not  leave  my  old  life  in  fragments 
even  to  be  lifted  into  higher  glory.  Let  Thy 
New^  Jerusalem  come  down — to  finish,  to  per- 
fect, to  supply  the  missing  stone !  Come  down 
Thyself  to  see  the  old  Tower  of  Babel  that 
has  tried  to  reach  unto  heaven  and  failed ! 
Put  a  new  flight  of  steps  on  the  old  stair ! 
Crown   the  path   where   once  we   erred !     Gild 


MARRIAGE  OF  HEAVEN  AND  EARTH    197 

the  day  where  once  we  wandered !  Prosper 
the  work  where  once  we  fainted  !  Resume  the 
journey  where  once  we  halted !  Complete  the 
picture  where  the  brush  dropped  from  our 
hand !  Many  would  rejoice  to  say,  "  The  old 
world  is  ended " ;  rather  would  my  gladness 
be,  "The  old  world  is  finished."  It  will  be 
finished  when  my  desires  have  found  their 
marriage  bells. 


LX 

THE  ALTERNATIONS   OF  LIFE 

"  He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep." — Psa.  cxxvii.  2. 
"  And    the    angel    that    talked    with    me    waked    me."— 
Zech.  iv,  1. 

HERE  are  two  opposite  aspects  of  the  work 
of  Christ  in  the  soul.  We  commonly 
recognise  only  one  of  them.  We  all  associate 
religion  with  peace — with  what  is  called  the 
sleep  of  God's  beloved.  We  have  been  taught  in 
times  of  storm  and  stress  that  there  is  to  be 
found  a  peace  which  passeth  knowledge,  a  rest 
to  the  inner  man.  So  habitual  has  been  this 
association  that  we  are  apt  to  forget  it  is  only 
one  side  of  the  Christian  life,  that  it  has  another 
side — the  side  revealed  by  Zechariah.  It  is  quite 
true  that  in  the  hour  of  trouble  a  Christian 
finds  peace  ;  but  it  is  equally  true  that  in  an 
hour  of  peace  the  Christian  often  finds  trouble. 
The  one  seems  consistent  with  God's  promise ; 
but  the  other  appears  a  breaking  of  the  promise. 
They  are,  in  truth,  both  fulfilments.     God   has 

198 


THE   ALTERNATIONS  OF  LIFE        199 

promised  each  of  these  experiences.  There  are 
times  when  he  gives  His  beloved  their  sleep,  and 
there  are  times  Tvhen  He  sends  His  angel  to 
wake  them.  If  there  are  seasons  when  the 
Great  Physician  administers  to  His  patients  a 
sedative,  there  are  also  seasons  in  which  He 
administers  to  them  an  irritant.  Peace  without 
conflict  is  as  bad  as  conflict  without  peace.  It  is 
not  good  to  sleep  too  long.  We  need  an  alarm 
bell  of  some  kind.  Noise,  as  well  as  silence,  may 
be  a  gift  from  our  Father.  There  are  scenes  of 
beauty  which  are  lost  to  us  just  from  unbroken 
contemplation  ;  there  are  domestic  joys  which 
are  uncherished  by  us  just  from  their  daily 
recurrence.  Nothing  makes  the  soul  sleep  like 
the  monotony  of  mercies  ;  on  the  banks  of  that 
rhythmic  stream  we  become  dead  to  the  rhythm. 
But  if  the  current  be  impeded,  if  an  obstruction 
bar  the  stream,  if  a  famine  of  waters  bid  it  relax 
its  speed,  then  indeed  I  wake  to  yesterday's 
music.  It  comes  to  me  like  the  murmur  of 
the  shell  whose  voice  has  only  grown  beautiful 
in  the  absence  of  the  parent  sea. 

Lord,  I  want  both  Thy  pillar  of  fire  by  night 
and  Thy  pillar  of  cloud  by  day — Thy  peace  in  the 
shadow,  Thy  shading  in  the  sun.  And  because  I 
need  both.  Thou  hast  given  me  both.  There  is 
no  Gethsemane  without  its  flower ;  there  is  no 
rose  without  its  thorn.     Men  call  this  the  uncer- 


200        THE  ALTERNATIONS  OF  LIFE 

tainty  of  life.  Rather  would  I  see  in  it  fcLe 
certainty  of  Thy  mercy.  To  me  life  would  be  far 
more  uncertain  if  there  were  not  these  alterna- 
tions of  the  light  and  the  cloud.  There  would  be 
more  deaths  untimely  if  Thou  didst  not  give  Thy 
beloved  a  sleep  in  their  sorrow ;  there  would  be 
more  lives  unfruitful  if  Thou  didst  not  bid  Thine 
angel  wake  them  to  their  joys.  It  is  to  keep  my 
life  certain  that  Thou  keepest  me  ever  between 
the  calm  and  the  breeze.  If  the  waters  run  up 
to  the  brim,  they  would  overflow  me ;  if  the 
waters  revealed  no  ripple,  they  would  deaden 
me.  My  safety  cometh  from  life's  changes ;  if 
life  were  less  variable,  I  should  be  less  eecure. 
Therefore,  O  Father,  I  say,  Beset  me  with  Thy 
varied  presence — Thine  hours  for  sleep  and 
Thine  hours  for  waking  !  Beset  me  at  night 
with  Thy  glowing  fire,  by  day  with  Thy  cooling 
wind  !  May  I  rest  in  my  labours  ;  may  I  wake 
in  my  responsibilities  !  In  the  tempest  of  my 
heart,  say,  "  Peace,  be  still " ;  on  the  mount  of 
my  vanity,  cry,  "  Arise  and  depart,  for  this  is  not 
your  rest " !  Prepare  for  me  a  table  in  my 
wilderness ;  overthrow  for  me  the  tables  of 
traffic  I  have  set  up  within  Thy  temple  !  Com- 
pass me,  in  grief,  with  songs  of  deliverance  ;  sur- 
round me,  in  joy,  with  thoughts  of  solemnity  I  So 
shall  my  evenings  and  mornings  together  make 
one  day ;  so  shall  all  my  life  be  girt  about  by  Thee. 


LXI 

THE  UNEXPECTED  DOOR  OF 
REVELATION 

"  A  voice  came  out  of  the  cloud." — Mark  ix.  7. 

IF  you  had  been  standing  on  the  Mount  of 
Transfiguration  you  would  have  said, "  Here 
at  last  I  shall  have  a  revelation  from  the  silent 
heaven."  You  would  have  felt  in  looking  round 
that  there  was  hardly  a  single  door  through 
which  that  revelation  might  not  come.  You 
would  have  expected  it  from  the  glittering 
garments.  You  would  have  looked  for  it  from 
the  shining  face.  You  would  have  anticipated  it 
from  the  two  celestial  visitors.  You  would  have 
been  prepared  to  receive  it  from  the  audible 
words  of  communion  between  the  two  worlds. 
You  would  have  said,  "  There  is  only  one  Httle 
comer  where  I  expect  a  shut  door  ;  I  see  a  tiny 
cloud  covering  a  bit  of  the  blue."  Now,  what  is 
the  real  state  of  the  case  ?     In  the  whole  of  that 

201 


202  DOOE  OF  REVELATION 

mountain  scene  there  was  only  one  object  which 
became  the  avenue  for  revelation — it  was  the 
tiny  cloud !  None  of  the  likely  things  became 
a  medium.  The  white  garments  said  nothing. 
The  shining  countenance  revealed  nothing.  The 
celestial  visitors  brought  nothing.  The  converse 
of  heaven  and  earth  explained  nothing.  But  the 
cloud — the  despised  cloud — the  rejected  cloud — 
the  cloud  that  seemed  to  throw  a  damper  on  the 
scene — that  was  the  thing  which  spoke,  that  was 
the  thing  which  revealed  the  glory  of  the  Son 
of  Man  !  Nobody  would  now  deny  that  it  is  the 
cloud  which  has  revealed  Christ's  glory ;  our 
watchw^ord  is  not  the  shining  of  His  coun- 
tenance, but  the  shadow  of  His  Cross.  Yet  not 
of  Christ  alone  has  the  symbol  proved  true  ;  the 
voice  to  you  and  me  has  come  from  the  cloud. 
What  reveals  our  higher  birth?  Is  it  the 
shining  garment  of  our  mountain  moments — 
the  triumphs  of  reason,  the  discoveries  of 
science,  the  achievements  of  art,  the  advances 
of  music  ?  Not  these.  Is  it  the  increase  in  the 
power  of  human  converse — the  marvels  of  steam 
and  electricity?  Not  these.  Is  it  the  possession 
of  tabernacles  of  gold — the  trappings  of  wealth, 
the  homes  of  luxury,  the  gardens  of  pleasure  ? 
Not  these.  It  is  our  cloud  that  reveals  our 
origin.  It  is  our  wants  that  prove  our  birth. 
It   is    our   thirst  that  betrays  our   aristocracy. 


DOOR  OF  REVELATION  203 

It  is  the  rent  in  our  garment  that  shows 
how  we  in  the  body  are  not  at  home.  We 
have  torn  our  garb  because  it  is  too  small 
for  us ;  our  cloud  has  made  our  parentage 
clear. 

I  thank  Thee,  O  Lord,  for  the  void  places  in 
my  heart ;  they  reveal  more  than  does  the 
furniture.  I  see  Thee  nearest  where  I  am  not 
filled  ;  it  is  the  empty  air  that  gives  me  wings. 
All  my  treasures  have  come  from  the  shadow. 
My  faith  needs  the  fog.  My  prayer  needs  the 
precipice.  My  trust  needs  the  tempest.  My 
sympathy  needs  the  sacrifice.  My  mercy  needs 
the  miserable.  My  truth  needs  temptation.  My 
pity  needs  painfulness.  My  peace  needs  powers 
opposing.  My  spotlessness  needs  contact  with  a 
stain.  How  could  I  hope  if  there  were  no  haze  ! 
— hope  would  be  lost  in  certainty.  How  could  I 
be  patient  if  there  were  no  perils ! — patience 
would  melt  in  fruition.  How  could  I  be  chari- 
table if  there  were  no  cheerless  ! — charity  would 
fade  in  wastefulness.  How  could  I  feel  immortal 
if  there  were  no  insufficiency ! — earth  would 
be  then  my  fitting  rest.  It  is  on  the  wings 
of  weakness  I  fly  to  Thee.  It  is  in  the  days  of 
darkness  I  cry  to  Thee.  It  is  in  the  sense  of 
sinfulness  I  sigh  to  Thee.  My  gem  lies  in  my 
conscious  degeneracy  ;  I  discern  my  origin  when 
I  recognise  the  dust.     The  ring  and   the  robe 


204  DOOR  OF  REVELATION 

may  welcome  m.e  back,  the  music  and  the 
dancing  may  greet  my  return ;  but  it  is  the 
famine  that  tells  me  I  am  wandered,  it  is 
the  sense  of  the  swine-husks  that  brings  me 
home. 


Lxn 

THE  PROOF  OP  SPIRITUAL  REST 

"Walk  in  the  good  way,   and  ye   shall  find  rest  for  your 
souls." — Jer.  vi.  16. 

""VTTALK,  and  ye  shall  find  rest."  Is  not 
V  V  that  an  incongruous  statement.  Is  it 
not  like  saying,  "  Shut  your  eyes,  and  you 
will  see."  Are  not  walking  and  rest  opposites ; 
is  not  the  one  a  movement  and  the  other  a 
stillness.  Yes,  in  the  world  of  matter.  When 
we  speak  of  a  hody  at  rest,  we  mean  that  it  is 
motionless.  But  when  we  say  that  a  soul  is  at 
rest,  we  mean  just  the  contrary ;  we  mean  that 
it  has  become  capable  of  movement.  I  do  not 
think  a  soul  ever  begins  to  walk  until  it  is  at 
rest.  What  is  your  idea  of  a  restless  soul — of 
mental  dispeace?  Is  it  not  your  conception  of 
a  mind  which  is  incapacitated  from  working, 
which  is  unable  to  concentrate  itself.  Mental 
dispeace   is   mental    inactivity.      Whenever   we 

906 


206     THE  PROOF  OF  SPIRITUAL  REST 

attribute  unrest  to  any  part  of  our  spiritual 
being  we  imply  that  it  is  a  part  not  working, 
not  fulfilling  its  function.  A  restless  mind  is  a 
mind  that  cannot  act.  A  restless  heart  is  a 
heart  that  cannot  love.  A  restless  or  wavering 
will  is  a  will  that  cannot  decide.  It  is  only 
when  the  soul  has  begun  to  "  lie  down  in  green 
pastures  "  that  it  is  able  to  walk  in  the  paths  of 
righteousness.  It  is  not  said,  "Walk,  and  you 
will  get  rest "  ;  it  is,  "  "Walk,  and  you  will  find 
rest."  The  rest  is  there  already ;  it  simply  waits 
to  be  revealed.  You  will  discover  it  by  your 
power  of  walking.  You  w^ill  learn  your  peace 
by  your  prowess,  your  calm  by  your  courage, 
your  satisfaction  by  your  strength,  your  repose 
by  your  running.  You  will  say,  "I  must  have 
had  wonderful  inward  rest,  since  I  have  walked 
so  far,  fought  so  long,  worked  so  well ;  I  never 
could  have  soared  so  high  unless  my  heart  had 
seen  its  home." 

Lord,  nothing  but  Thy  peace  will  give  me 
strength  for  toil.  I  am  easily  wearied  from 
without  when  I  have  not  rest  within.  I  move 
with  tardy  feet  when  my  heart  lies  not  on  a 
couch  of  down.  Often  have  I  marvelled  at  that 
strength  of  Thine  which  could  climb  the 
Dolorous  Way  bearing  a  cross  laden  with  the 
sins  of  all  mankind.  But  I  have  found  the 
secret  now.     Thy  peace  came  first — came  before 


THE   PROOF  OF  SPIRITUAL  REST     207 

the  Garden,  came  before  the  chmbing.  It  was 
Thy  peace  that  made  the  climbing  poswble,  it 
was  Thy  peace  that  made  the  yoke  easy  and  the 
burden  light.  Be  mine  Thy  peace,  O  Lord — the 
peace  before  the  battle !  I  too  have  steeps  to 
climb,  I  too  have  crosses  to  carry ;  send  me  the 
rest  of  the  heart  ere  they  come  !  I  have  heard 
men  say,  "  After  dark  the  light  comes " ;  but  I 
would  have  light  in  the  dark.  I  would  not  go 
into  Gethsemane  without  peace,  Thy  peace, 
already  in  my  soul.  I  would  have  an  hour  of 
Divine  communion  ere  I  go — an  hour  of  human 
brotherhood,  an  hour  for  the  breaking  of  bread. 
I  would  be  warmed  by  earthly  sympathy  ere  I 
go — would  feel  the  clasp  of  kindred  hands  and 
the  joy  of  a  common  fellowship.  I  would  have 
the  transfiguration  light  ere  I  go — the  face 
radiant  from  w^ithin  and  the  raiment  ^vhite  and 
glistening.  Not  as  the  world  gives,  give  Thy 
peace  to  me !  The  world  gives  its  peace  to 
reward  toil ;  give  me  Thine,  to  prepare  for  toil ! 
The  world  gives  its  peace  to  exhausted  energy ; 
give  me  Thine,  as  a  stimulus  to  action  !  The 
world  gives  its  peace  as  a  rest  from  labour ;  give 
me  Thine,  to  w^ake  me  from  repose  and  to  nerve 
me  for  the  coming  day  ! 


Lxin 

THE  SPHERE  OF  GREATEST  DANGER 


"  He  that  delivered  Me  unto  thee  hath  the  greater  sin."— 
John  xix.  11. 


THESE  words  are  spoken  by  Christ  to  Pilate. 
He  tells  Pilate  that  his  part  in  the  cruci- 
fixion is  not  so  bad  as  the  part  taken  by 
Caiaphas,  "  He  that  delivered  Me  unto  you  is  a 
greater  sinner  than  you,  although  you  have  the 
final  blow  to  strike  and  the  final  act  to  play." 
This  is  a  most  remarkable  judgment  on  the  part 
of  Jesus.  To  all  outward  seeming  Pilate's  was 
the  murderer's  hand.  It  was  he  who  gave  the 
sentence,  it  was  he  who  ordained  the  cross. 
But  our  Lord  virtually  says  that  at  a  certain 
stage  of  wickedness  things  cannot  be  retrieved 
by  man — the  seed  of  badness  must  develop  into 
the  tree.  Pilate  happened  to  be  under  the  tree. 
He  had  become  heir  to  the  bad  deeds  of  others 
who    had    preceded    him.      It   was    no    longer 

208 


SPHERE   OF   GREATEST   DANGER     209 

possible  for  him  to  arrest  the  development  of  a 
national  sin — it  would  have  required  a  miracle. 
It  could  have  been  arrested  at  the  beginning. 
But  at  the  beginning  it  had  been  fostered. 
Caiaphas  had  planted  it — Caiaphas  was  the 
deeper  culprit ;  Pilate  was  more  a  victim  than 
an  agent.  That  is  what  Christ  means,  and  it 
seems  to  me  a  thought  suggestive  for  all  time. 
Is  it  not  true  that  the  final  and  fatal  act  is  often 
the  least  culpable  act.  If  a  man  allows  his 
passion  to  get  habitual  power  over  his  reason, 
he  may  come  at  last  to  commit  a  great  crime. 
And  yet  at  this  last  hour  he  may  be  less  to 
blame  than  in  his  morning.  He  may  have  come 
to  a  stage  when  he  is  helpless,  hopeless,  a  mere 
puppet  in  the  hands  of  that  law  of  development 
which  he  has  outraged  and  whose  shadow 
cannot  be  sent  back  ten  degrees.  It  is  the 
morning  that  is  the  crucial  time,  the  responsible 
time.  It  is  the  beginnings  that  are  big  with 
hope  or  fear.  It  is  the  st7'eains  of  the  river  that 
make  glad,  or  sorry,  the  city  of  our  God.  It  is 
the  evil  done  in  the  dawn  that  makes  the 
blackest  cloud  in  the  day. 

My  brother,  take  heed  that  you  make  the 
outgoings  of  the  tnorning  to  praise  Him !  It  is 
only  the  outgoings  of  the  morning  that  are 
wholly  yours.  When  the  afternoon  comes,  you 
will  not  be  your  own  master  ;  Caiaphas  will  have 

15 


210     SPHERE   OF  GREATEST  DANGER 

become  Pilate.  Take  heed  to  your  beginnings — 
your  initial  acts  !  As  the  day  advances,  a  temp- 
tation may  pass  beyond  your  power  of  govern- 
ment ;  watch  its  beginnings !  Caiaphas  did  less 
outward  harm  than  Pilate,  yet  his  was  the 
greater  sin ;  it  was  the  laying  of  the  train 
underground.  Beware  of  the  train  laid  under- 
ground— of  the  seed  sown  in  spring-time !  Men 
look  to  the  effects  of  autumn;  to  God,  the 
tragedy  lies  in  the  spring.  Men  behold  a 
harvest  of  evil  and  say,  "  This  is  the  chmax  of 
the  man's  wickedness " ;  but  God  says,  "  His 
greatest  wickedness  was  in  the  spring,  when  the 
surface  was  undisturbed  and  the  corruption  was 
all  below."  My  brother,  the  trifles  of  earth  are 
the  great  events  of  heaven ;  watch  the  trifles ! 
Dress  the  small  gardens ;  water  the  tiny  flowers ! 
Tremble  at  the  first  breach  of  truth !  Avoid  the 
beginnings  of  avarice  !  Move  from  the  threshold 
of  meanness !  Fly  from  the  brink  of  folly ! 
Impugn  the  thought  of  impurity !  Suffer  not 
the  jest  about  solemn  things !  Dismiss  deceit 
from  the  door!  Greet  not  with  levity  the 
groveUing  of  your  spirit !  These  are  the  temp- 
tations of  your  morning — the  temptations  of 
Caiaphas ;  in  these  is  fought  the  battle  of  your 
souL 


LXIV 

DISENCHANTMENT 

"Of  whom  is  Hymenaeus  and  Alexander,  whom  I  have 
dehvered  unto  Satan  that  they  may  learn  not  to  blaspheme." 
—1  Tim.  i.  20. 

SURELY  that  is  a  strange  school  in  which  to 
learn  such  a  lesson !  It  reads  like  saying, 
"  I  have  sent  my  boy  to  a  desert  island  that  he 
may  have  some  idea  of  the  earth's  population," 
"  I  have  sent  my  girl  to  a  bear-garden  that  she 
may  have  some  notion  of  the  charms  of  music." 
Is  it  not  equally  grotesque  for  Paul  to  say,  "I 
have  sent  these  two  young  men  to  the  school  of 
Satan  that  they  may  acquire  a  sense  of  the 
horror  of  blasphemy."  No,  for  in  this  last  case 
there  is  a  peculiarity.  The  lesson  we  are  to  get 
about  sin  is  not  so  much  a  learning  as  an  un- 
learning. The  young  men  in  this  passage,  like 
all  other  young  mien,  were  under  a  delusion. 
They  thought  that  sin  was  a  beautiful  thing — a 

911 


212  DISENCHANTMENT 

thing  worth  imitating.  They  dreamed  of  it  as 
men  used  to  dream  of  lands  beyond  the  sea — as 
something  which  afforded  scope  for  heroism.  It 
seemed  a  grand  thing  to  be  thovight  naughty,  to 
be  labelled  "  dangerous."  It  was  so  like  a  cavalier 
to  care  for  nothing,  so  like  a  trooper  to  swear, 
so  like  a  brilliant  man  to  break  tender  hearts. 
Paul  says  :  "  They  are  looking  at  a  squalid  village 
from  the  top  of  a  hill ;  it  seems  picturesque  in 
the  distance.  I  will  give  them  a  near  vision.  I 
will  loose  the  rein.  I  will  let  them  go  down. 
They  shall  taste  the  apples  of  the  tree.  They 
shall  drink  the  waters  of  Marah.  They  shall 
touch  the  thorn  -which,  afar  off,  seems  so  fair. 
And  then  the  disenchantment  will  come.  They 
will  find  a  flaming  sword  in  their  fancied  Eden. 
They  will  call  upon  the  Cherubim  to  shut 
them  out ;  they  will  pray  to  the  trees  to  hide 
them.  They  will  see  that  they  have  erred — 
mistaken  the  serpent  for  a  seraph.  They  will 
stretch  out  their  hands  towards  the  vanished 
past  ;  they  will  yearn  for  their  undimmed 
yesterday." 

I  bless  Thee,  O  Lord,  for  the  words,  "  That  they 
may  learn  not  to  blaspheme."  They  tell  me  in 
wondrous  language  that  Thy  mercy  is  not  con- 
fined to  the  heavens — that  it  reaches  even  unto 
the  clouds.  Often  Thou  sayest,  in  human  life, 
"  Ephraim  is  joined  to  his  idols  ;  let  him  alone ! " 


DISENCHANTMENT  213 

I  used  to  think  it  meant  that  Thy  mercy  had 
abandoned  the  man.  But  now  I  see  it  all.  Thou 
hast  suffered  the  lad  to  go  to  sea  just  that  he 
may  learn  the  hardship  of  it,  the  pain  of  it,  the 
privation  of  it.  Nothing  else  would  have  taught 
him.  Seen  from  the  distance,  the  ship  looked 
Fairyland.  The  white  sail  caught  the  sun  and 
the  blue  wave  bathed  the  keel  and  the  flag 
danced  responsive  to  the  breeze ;  and  the  boy 
clapped  his  hands  and  cried,  "  Let  me  go  ! "  And 
Thou  saidst,  "  Go  ! "  Thou  hast  answered  the 
prodigal's  prayer  to  have  his  portion  apart  from 
Thee.  Why  didst  Thou  answer  that  prayer,  O 
my  Father  ?  Because  to  Thy  sight  there  were 
present  the  swine-husks  and  the  faintness  and 
the  famine.  Thou  knewest  that  the  music  and 
the  dancing  were  not  in  the  land  he  sought — that 
he  would  only  find  them  in  Thee.  Thou  knewest 
that  the  ring  and  the  robe  were  not  in  the  spot 
he  coveted — that  he  would  only  greet  them  in 
Thee.  Thou  knewest  that  the  fatted  calf  was 
not  for  the  feast  he  wanted — that  he  would  only 
enjoy  it  w^ith  Thee.  Thou  knewest  that  when  he 
saw  sin  near  enough  he  would  cry  for  the  house 
of  his  Father.  Therefore  didst  Thou  answer  his 
wicked  prayer  ;  therefore,  O  Lord,  didst  Thou  let 
him  go — not  to  kill  but  to  cure,  not  to  slay  but 
to  save,  not  to  punish  but  to  purify.  Thou  hast 
banished  to  beautify ;  Thou  hast  exiled  to  extri- 


214  DISENCHANTMENT 

cate ;  Thou  hast  forsaken  to  fortify  ;  Thou  hast 
deserted  to  defend.  Thou  hast  withdrawn  Thy 
hand  that  Thy  hand  may  be  cherished  for  ever ; 
bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul  I 


LXV 

THE  SANCTUARY  IN  PRIVATE  LIFE 

"  Men  shall  worship  Him,   every  one  from  his  place." — 
Zeph.  ii.  11. 

THE  prophet  says  there  is  a  time  coming 
when  there  will  be  no  distinction  drawn 
between  the  secular  and  the  sacred.  In  the 
Jewish  dispensation  it  was  not  allowed  that 
every  man  should  worship  God  "  from  his  place  " 
— from  the  spot  on  which  he  was  standing.  On 
the  contrary,  there  was  one  place  where  all  were 
enjoined  to  worship — Jerusalem ;  it  was  to  her 
the  tribes  of  God  were  exhorted  to  go  up,  it  was 
from  within  her  gates  that  the  smoke  of  the 
incense  ascended.  But  the  prophet  says  there  is 
a  new  age  coming  when  within  his  own  gates 
every  man  shall  have  his  own  temple.  There  is 
a  day  approaching  when  there  will  be  no  need  of 
locomotion  to  carry  us  from  things  temporal  to 
things  eternal.  It  will  be  done  by  a  breath  of 
the  spirit,  by  a  movement  of  the  heart.     I  shall 

215 


216    THE   SANCTUARY  IN  PRIVATE   LIFE 

not  need  to  leave  my  place,  in  the  sweet  by  and 
by — I  shall  worship  from  my  place.  No  matter 
where  my  place  may  be,  it  will  become  my 
temple.  Each  service  to  man  shall  be  called  a 
service  of  God.  No  more  shall  it  be  said,  "  Go 
up  to  the  house  of  the  Lord  " ;  we  shall  each 
worship  from  our  place.  The  mother  shall  wor- 
ship from  her  place ;  her  altar  of  sacrifice  will 
be  the  nursery.  The  daughter  shall  worship 
from  her  place  ;  her  offering  to  God  will  be  her 
filial  devotion.  The  servant  shall  worship  from 
her  place ;  her  domestic  service  will  be  her 
Divine  service.  The  merchant  shall  worship  from 
his  place ;  his  gains  will  be  a  gathering  for  God. 
All  song  shall  be  a  psaltery,  all  social  music  a 
sacred  melody.  Each  gift  shall  be  a  garland  for 
Him.  My  wealth  shall  wield  His  sceptre ;  my 
power  shall  plant  His  seed ;  my  fame  shall  fan 
His  praise  ;  my  voice  shall  vibrate  to  His  name ; 
my  hand  shall  help  His  sanctuary ;  my  feet  shall 
follow  His  steps  ;  my  special  grace  shall  minister 
to  His  spiritual  glory.  I  shall  not  need  to  stand 
beside  the  cross,  for  I  shall  bear  in  my  own  body 
the  dying  of  the  Lord  Jesus. 

My  afflicted  brother,  my  afflicted  sister,  thou 
who  art  laid  aside  on  bed  of  languishing  and 
made  useless  for  life's  running,  I  have  a  message 
of  comfort  for  thee.  Thou  canst  w^orship  from 
thy    place — canst    serve    God    from    the  couch 


THE   SANCTUARY   IN    PRIVATE   LIFE     217 

whereon  thou  liest.  Thou  art  saying  in  thy 
heart,  "  I  can  never  go  up  to  Jerusalem  to  serve 
God  ;  I  can  never  be  of  any  use  in  the  things  of 
the  kingdom."  But  there  is  no  longer  any  need 
for  thee  to  go  up  to  Jerusalem ;  thou  canst 
serve  God  from  thy  place.  Thy  sacrifice  is  here 
— here  on  thy  bed  of  pain.  Thine  offering  is 
here — here  in  the  silence  of  thy  room.  There 
may  be  f ev7  icitnesses  of  thy  sacrifice.  But  had 
Abraham  many  witnesses !  Was  not  Mount 
Moriah  as  lonely  as  any  sick-chamber — a  solitary 
battle  with  his  own  will !  Doubtless  he  thought 
he  was  being  shunted  from  the  world;  but  in 
truth  he  was  making  history — he  was  laying  the 
foundation-stone  of  the  kingdom  of  God.  God's 
place  for  thee  has  been  Mount  Moriah — a  solitary 
sacrifice.  He  may  have  called  thee,  as  He  called 
Abraham,  to  ascend  the  mount  "  early  in  the 
morning" — may  have  overshadowed  thee  while 
it  was  yet  life's  spring.  Wilt  thou  say,  "  To 
what  purpose  is  this  waste  "  !  Is  the-  shadow  of 
God  waste  !  When  the  Spirit  broods  over  the 
face  of  the  waters  and  eclipses  my  sun,  is  that 
waste !  When  I  am  hid  in  the  secret  of  God's 
pavilion,  is  that  waste  !  Is  not  one  hour  of  God's 
private  teaching  worth  a  whole  day  of  His  public 
school !  O  glorious  eclipse,  O  splendid  hiding,  O 
grand  obscurity,  O  shadow  that  tells  of  light, 
we  shall  not  ask  earth's  broken  ones  to  find  a 
better  place  than  thee. 


LXVI 

THE  HOLT  DAY  AND  THE  HOLIDAY 

"  The  fast  of  the  fourth  month,  and  the  fast  of  the  fifth,  and 
the  fast  of  the  seyenth,  and  the  fast  of  the  tenth,  shall  be  to 
the  house  of  Judah  joy  and  gladness,  and  cheerful  feasts; 
therefore  love  truth  and  peace." — ^Zbch.  viii.  19. 

I  UNDERSTAND  the  meaning  of  the  passage 
to  be  that  if  religion  is  to  hecome  a  thing 
of  truth  and  peace  it  must  be  made  a  thing  of 
joy  and  gladness.  Four  days  are  to  be  made 
feast-days.  The  worship  of  God  is  not  to  be 
associated  with  mere  solemnity.  It  is  not  to  be 
linked  exclusively  with  the  serious  things  of 
life — with  death,  with  sin,  with  sorrow.  It  is 
to  be  w^reathed  with  roses.  It  is  to  be  clothed 
in  bright  colours.  It  is  to  be  accompanied  by 
music.  It  is  to  be  greeted  with  smiles.  In 
nothing  was  the  Jew  more  wise  than  in  this 
good  rule.     It  would  be  well  if  we  of  modern 

days  had  remembered  it.     It  is  not  often  we  see 

ai8 


THE  HOLY  DAY  AND  THE  HOLIDAY  219 

our  little  Samuels  making  a  recreation  of  calling 
on  the  Lord.  Why  so  ?  Because  the  Lord  is  to 
us  not  a  recreation.  We  never  associate  reh'gion 
with  a  holiday,  with  an  hour  of  pleasure,  with  a 
moment  of  relaxation.  It  always  brings  to  us  a 
sense  of  obligation,  of  restraint,  of  imposed 
fetters.  Surely  there  is  something  wrong  here  ! 
Should  not  the  climax  of  worship  be  love !  Is 
not  love  the  holiday  of  the  soul !  Is  it  not  the 
hour  when  I  forget  my  cares,  when  I  lose  my 
burdens  !  Is  it  not  the  season  when  I  get  the 
sense  that  the  lessons  are  all  over,  that  the 
tasks  are  remitted,  that  the  duties  are  annulled ! 
The  academy  becomes  an  Arcadia.  The  law 
becomes  liberty.  The  lesson  hour  is  the  leisure 
hour.  The  place  of  toil  is  a  playground.  Love 
makes  the  fretful  free,  the  laden  light,  the 
weighted  willing.  Martha  has  ceased  to  be 
martyred  ;  Peter  numbers  not  his  precepts  to 
forgive ;  Elijah  enlarges  not  on  the  troubles 
he  endures.  Pain  becomes  pleasure ;  merit 
melts ;  credit  crumbles  ;  the  pride  of  doing 
good  is  prostrated  in  gladness.  The  love  of 
truth  and  peace  makes  the  fast-feast  a  feast- 
day. 

Ye  who  have  the  care  of  little  children,  plant 
early  in  their  hearts  the  thought  that  religion  is 
a  joy  1  Beware  how  you  put  a  cypress  in  the 
place  of  a  rose  !     Remember  that  the  first  plant- 


220  THE  HOLY  DAY  AND  THE  HOLIDAY 

ings  in  the  soul  tend  to  keep  their  places  for 
ever !  If  you  sow  the  seed  of  God  beside  a  grave, 
it  will  remain  beside  that  grave  when  the  child 
is  grown.  It  is  hard  for  the  later  hours  to  undo 
the  work  of  the  morning.  Our  first  garden 
should  be  planted  with  evergreens  —  things 
which  keep  their  youth ;  take  heed  what  you 
sow !  It  is  not  enough  that  you  teach  the  child 
reverence.  I  do  not  think  I  would  begin 
with  reverence.  I  would  begin  w^ith  love.  Let 
not  the  solemnity  of  religion  be  the  foundation  ! 
Rather  let  your  child  see  the  ripple  on  the 
stream  !  Begin  not  by  telling  him  what  he  must 
do  for  God ;  tell  what  God  has  done  for 
him !  Point  not  in  the  morning  to  the  stern 
mountains  of  the  Divine  Righteousness  !  Take 
him  first  to  Cana  of  Galilee !  Let  him  see  his 
Father  in  sympathy  "v^dth  his  joys  !  Do  not  let 
him  think  that  his  gloom  manifests  God's  glory ! 
Do  not  let  him  dream  that  God  smiles  when  he 
is  smitten  or  frowns  when  he  is  festive  !  Do  not 
let  him  link  his  Sabbaths  with  sadness  or  his 
church  with  chilliness  or  his  prayers  with  pain  ! 
Sow  his  faith  among  the  flowers,  his  religion  in 
radiant  places  !  Plant  not  his  God  where  the 
willows  wave  ;  build  not  his  temple  where  the 
desert  dwells !  Wreath  his  God  with  roses ! 
Paint  Him  with  pleasures  !  Surround  Him  with 
songs  !    Link  Him  with  love  !     Reveal  Him  not 


THE  HOLY  DAY  AND  THE  HOLIDAY  221 

as  burdensome  but  as  beautiful^  not  as  grave  but 
as  gracious,  not  as  solemn  but  as  social !  He 
that  serves  God  with  gladness  in  the  morning 
will  find  in  God  his  peace  when  the  day  is  far 
spent. 


LXVII 

THE    HIGHEST    EVIDENCE    OF 
IMMORTALITY 

"  In  My  Father's  house  are  many  mansions;  if  it  were  not 
so,  I  would  have  told  you.  Philip  saith  unto  Him,  Lord, 
show  us  the  Father,  and  it  siifficeth  us." — John  xiv.  2,  8. 

I  AM  not  aware  that  these  verses  have  ever 
before  been  put  together.  And  yet  they 
are  as  closely  connected  as  if  they  had  been 
consecutive.  Christ  had  been  speaking  of  im- 
mortality and  of  the  silence  which  even  in  His 
teaching  hangs  over  the  subject.  A  discussion 
had  arisen  as  to  "the  way"  of  arriving  at  a  clear 
conviction  on  this  point.  Thomas  is  of  opinion 
that  the  true  attitude  for  men  is  agnosticism, 
"We  know  not  whither  Thou  goest;  and  how 
can  we  know  the  way ! "  But  Philip  takes 
another  view,  "Show  us  the  Father,  and  it 
sufficeth  us " — sufficeth  us  for  a  proof  of  im- 
mortality. This  is  what  I  understand  him  to 
mean.     I  read  him  as  saying  that  for  the  belief 

222 


EVIDENCE   OF   IMMORTALITY        223 

in  a  future  state  the  one  thing  needed  is  a  clear 
conviction  of  the  existence  of  God.  And  I  am 
bound  to  say  that  I  agree  with  that  statement. 
Personally,  I  should  ask  no  stronger  evidence  of 
immortality  than  the  distinct  consciousness  that 
I  am  in  the  presence  of  God.  That  is  Tennyson's 
argument  as  well  as  Philip's ;  he  says,  "  Thou 
art  just ;  Thou  wouldst  not  leave  me  in  the 
dust."  It  is  a  bold  saying;  he  founds  his  im- 
mortal hope  not  on  God's  grace  but  on  His 
justice.  I  think  he  is  right.  If  God  made  an 
eagle  immortal,  it  would  be  an  act  of  grace ;  the 
eagle's  life  is  quite  complete  here,  it  needs  no 
more.  But  to  make  man  immortal,  is  only 
justice.  His  life  is  not  complete  here.  It  is  a 
fragment.  It  is  like  the  half  of  an  unfinished, 
though  inhabited,  castle.  Within  that  finished 
half  there  is  a  mass  of  unused  furniture — furni- 
ture which  can  only  be  used  in  upper  rooms. 
Shall  the  upper  rooms  never  come  !  Shall  there 
never  be  use  for  the  furniture  !  Shall  there  be 
no  completion  of  the  building  !  Shall  man  be 
the  one  fragment  in  the  universe — the  bud  that 
never  flowers,  the  dawn  that  never  spreads,  the 
bird  that  never  flies,  the  river  that  never  reaches 
the  sea  !  Surely  that  is  incompatible  with  the 
justice  of  my  Father  ! 

Father  in  heaven,  when  I  am  in  doubt  about 
my  future,  let  me  gaze  into  Thy  present  face! 


224         EVIDENCE   OF  IMMORTALITY 

I  feel,  like  Thy  disciple,  that  a  sure  knowledge  of 
Thee  would  suffice  for  my  hope  of  immortality. 
I  need  not  the  opening  of  pearly  gates.  I  need 
not  the  unsealing  of  crystal  fountains.  I  need 
not  the  hearing  of  heavenly  voices.  I  need  not 
stand  upon  a  Pisgah  height  with  the  Promised 
Land  in  view.  I  have  only  to  gaze  at  Thee.  I 
have  only  to  remember  that  Thy  work  is  never 
left  unfinished,  that  when  Thou  hast  begun  a 
building  Thou  wilt  perfect  it.  Thou  art  the 
evidence  of  my  immortality,  O  Lord.  I  could 
not  know  Thee  to  be  just,  and  doubt  that  I  am 
immortal.  My  brightest  evidence  is  not  my 
perfections  but  my  imperfections.  It  is  just 
w^here  I  am  weak  that  I  am  strong.  I  am  too 
small  for  the  clothes  Thou  hast  made  me.  I 
have  aspirings  beyond  my  strength.  I  have 
desires  beyond  my  power.  I  have  visions  beyond 
the  range  of  my  telescope.  I  have  a  will  to  be 
good  beyond  the  capacity  of  my  nature.  I  have 
purposes  of  action  beyond  the  limit  of  any 
human  life.  I  have  debts  to  pay  that  would 
require  eternity  to  discharge.  Why  hast  Thou 
swathed  me  in  such  garments,  if  I  am  not  to 
grow  !  Why  hast  Thou  lodged  me  in  such  a 
dwelling,  if  I  am  never  to  have  a  larger  income  ! 
I  appeal  to  Thy  justice,  O  my  Father.  I  need  no 
other  proof  of  a  life  beyond ;  the  thought  of  Thy 
justice  sufficeth. 


LXVIII 
GOD'S  ESTIMATE   OF  A  MAN'S   RELIGION 

"  He  judged  the  cause  of  the  poor  and  needy.     Was  not  this 
to  know  Me .'  saith  the  Lord. — Jer.  xxii.  16. 

THIS  is  to  my  mind  one  of  the  finest  pas- 
sages in  the  whole  Bible.  I  have  often 
seen  people  exercised  as  to  what  inscription 
they  should  put  on  the  tomb  of  one  who  lived 
the  life  but  did  not  accept  the  full  creed. 
For  such  a  man  I  can  imagine  no  grander 
epitaph  than  this,  "  He  judged  the  cause  of 
the  poor  and  needy — was  not  this  to  know 
Me!"  The  beauty  of  such  an  epitaph  is  that 
it  is  professedly  God's  epitaph.  It  is  the 
Divine  finger  that  is  pictured  writing  the  in- 
scription. I  think  the  prophet  has  in  his 
mind  something  like  this  :  A  man  has  died  in 
Judea  whose  orthodoxy  has  long  been  doubted. 
His  memory  is  greeted  with  general  obloquy. 
His  funeral  is  sparsely  attended.  No  Jewish 
rites  of  mourning   are  performed  for  him  ;  he 

1(J  225 


226      GOD'S   ESTIMATE   OF  RELIGION 

is  spoken  of  as  one  who  knew  not  the  Lord. 
But,  on  the  morning  after  the  funeral,  some 
of  his  friends  visit  the  grave  and  are  startled. 
There,  on  the  stone  which  had  been  left  with- 
out one  human  note  or  comment,  there  are 
inscribed  letters  of  flaming  gold  conveying  the 
striking  tribute,  "  He  judged  the  cause  of  the 
poor  and  needy — was  not  this  to  know  Me  I " 

O  Thou  who  knowest  our  heart  and  readest 
our  lives,  we  should  like  our  inscription  to  be 
written  by  Thee.  Often  Thy  inscription  re- 
verses ours.  We  with  bated  breath  often 
speak  of  one  departed — as  if  his  fate  were  a 
subject  not  to  dwell  upon.  And  at  that  very 
moment  heaven's  arches  may  be  ringing  with 
halleluiahs,  and  Thy  lips  may  be  saying, 
"  Good  and  faithful  servant,  well  done  !  " 
The  men  of  our  world  sign  their  confessions 
of  faith  by  their  words;  but  the  men  of  Thy 
world  sign  their  confessions  of  faith  by  their 
deeds.  Often  have  I  thought  of  that  com- 
pany at  Thy  right  hand  who  received  the 
mandate,  "Enter  ye  into  the  joy  of  your 
Lord ! "  How  surprised  they  were  when  they 
received  it !  Doubtless  they  had  been  counted 
among  the  goats.  Doubtless  a  plebiscite  of 
earth  would  have  excluded  them  from  Thy 
heaven.  They  had  not  "prophesied  in  Thy 
name "  ;  perhaps  they  had   refused  to  take  any 


GOD'S  ESTIMATE   OF  RELIGION      227 

religious  name ;  they  never  knew  that  theirs 
was  a  service  of  Thee.  They  would  have  called 
their  work  secular,  "  When  saw  we  Thee 
hungry  and  gave  Thee  meat ! " — "  We  only 
gave  it  to  poor  human  beings  of  the  gutter." 
But  the  last  judgment  reversed  the  first  judg- 
ment; Thou  saidst,  "Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it 
unto  the  least,  ye  have  done  it  unto  Me." 
Many  sheep  Thou  hast,  O  Christ,  which  are 
not  of  our  fold,  yea,  which  are  not  of  any 
fold.  The  cup  of  cold  water  may  be  only 
given  in  a  disciple's  name  and  not  in  Thine  ; 
yet  Thou  receivest  it  as  Thy  communion  cup. 
Thou  abidest  with  many  at  evening  time  when 
the  day  is  far  spent — when  the  faith  is  dim 
and  the  hope  is  low  and  there  is  nothing 
bright  but  love.  Thou  abidest  with  love  when 
love  alone  is  left.  When  I  cannot  praise  and 
am  powerless  to  pray,  I  can  still  break  the 
bread  to  the  hungry ;  and  I  am  known  to 
Thee  by  that  breaking  of  bread.  In  the  dearth 
of  prayer,  in  the  paralysis  of  praise,  in  the 
defiles  of  doubt,  in  the  valley  of  despondency, 
there  can  still  remain  one  light  unwavering 
— the  light  of  love  to  man ;  and  if  I  keep 
that  radiance  undimmed,  Thou  shalt  write 
upon  my  grave  the  imperishable  epitaph, 
"He  helped  the  poor  and  needy — was  not  this 
to  know  Me!" 


LXIX 

THE  DANGER  OF  CENSORIOUSNESS 


"  As  much  as  lieth  in  you,  live  peaceably  with  all  men."— 
EoM,  xii.  18. 


THE  Revised  Version  renders  this,  "  As 
much  as  in  you  Heth."  It  seems  a  trivial 
transposition ;  but  it  alters  the  whole  sense 
of  the  passage ;  it  makes  Paul  say,  "  Peace 
before  all  things  ! "  I  feel  sure  that  was  not 
the  idea.  I  am  convinced  that  the  Authorised 
Version  has  here  the  best  of  it.  Paul  does 
not  mean  that  we  are  to  pay  for  peace  any 
price  within  our  power.  What  he  says  is,  "So 
far  as  you  can  make  peace  by  sinking  your 
personal  enmity,  do  it ! — As  much  as  lieth  in 
you,  live  peaceably ! "  "As  much  as  lieth  in 
you "  means :  So  far  as  the  quarrel  rests  on 
temper,  on  private  spite,  on  human  jealousy. 
Paul  would  never  ask  you  to  compound  with 
sin  for  the  sake  of  unity,  even  though  it  were 


THE   DANGER  OF  CENSORlOUSNESS    229 

in  your  power.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  even 
in  raising  our  voice  against  a  sin,  he  would  have 
us  carefully  consider  whether  there  is  any  per- 
sonal motive  for  our  indignation.  I  have 
known  men  lash  themselves  into  fury  against 
an  act  committed  by  Mr.  A.  who  were  mildly 
complacent  toward  the  same  act  committed 
by  Mr.  B.  I  have  known  members  of  kirk- 
sessions  who  have  violently  opposed,  this  year, 
a  scheme  which  they  advocated  last  year ;  the 
reason  was  that  this  year  the  scheme  was 
brought  forward  by  a  man  whom  they  did 
not  like.  You  may  be  quite  right  in  your 
cause  when  you  are  quite  wrong  in  your  ad- 
vocacy. Paul  says :  In  any  moment  of  heat 
or  passion,  search  your  heart  with  candles ! 
See  if  your  anger  be  only  on  the  ground  of 
principle !  Examine  if  in  your  heart  there  is 
no  root  of  personal  bitterness !  Try  to  put 
yourself  in  the  place  of  a  third  party — one 
who  is  neither  yourself  nor  the  man  whom 
you  blame,  but  a  spectator,  a  looker-on !  Try 
how  the  object  of  your  indignation  would  look, 
viewed  by  this  impartial  witness !  Expel  from 
your  heart  as  much  of  the  anger  as  comes  from 
private  enmity !  Let  it  have  no  part  in  the 
storm ;  throw  it  overboard  like  Jonah !  It  is 
right  to  be  disquieted  on  the  sea  of  wrong ; 
but  take   care   that   your   disquiet  comes  from 


230    THE  DANGER  OF   CENSORIOUSNESS 

the  sea — take  heed  that  it  rises  not  from  some 
personal  hatred  which  is  sleeping  in  the  hold 
of  the  ship,  and  without  which  you  would  feel 
a  deadly  calm ! 

Lord,  break  down  every  inner  wall  that  sets 
me  at  variance  with  ray  brother  !  I  dare  not 
ask  for  the  breaking  of  every  outer  wall.  If 
I  hold  a  rampart  of  truth,  I  cannot  desert 
that  rampart  for  the  sake  of  peace  ;  it  would 
be  peace  -without  honour.  But  break  down 
my  inner  wall !  Let  me,  in  every  war,  desert 
the  rampart  of  self!  Let  me  lose  sight  of 
my  own  shadow !  Let  me  keep  my  eye  on 
the  impersonal!  Let  me  strike  no  enemy  but 
the  sin !  If  I  have  received  w^rong,  teach  me 
to  say  to  my  heart,  "  Should  I  feel  it  as  much 
if  it  were  done  to  another "  !  And  if  I  must 
answer  No,  if  I  find  that  the  storm  comes  not 
from  the  sea  but  from  Jonah,  help  me  to  cast 
him  out  into  the  waters,  O  Lord  !  My  heart 
is  never  so  deceptive  as  when  it  blames  a 
wrong.  Often  it  seems  to  me  that  I  am 
breaking  Nebuchadnezzar's  image  when  I  am 
only  breaking  my  brother's  window.  Often  I 
think  I  am  contending  for  the  truth  when 
I  am  merely  contending  for  the  triumph. 
Often  I  debar  my  neighbour  from  the  for- 
bidden tree  merely  lest  his  leaves  should 
be     greener    than    my    own.       Often    I    point 


THE  DANGER  OF  CENSORIOUSNESS    231 

out  my  comrade's  withered  flower  only  that 
men  may  see  I  have  companions  in  my  sin. 
My  heart  is  most  apt  to  be  evil  in*  its  ad- 
vocacy of  the  good ;  illuminate  my  heart,  O 
Lord  I 


LXX 

THE    UNPROMISING  ENVIRONMENT 

"  Jesus  was  without  in  desert  places ;  and  they  came  to  Him 
from  every  quarter." — Mark  i.  45. 

DARE  we  enter  into  this  experience  of  the 
Son  of  Man  ?  Yes,  because  He  is  the  Son 
of  Man ;  we  can,  without  irreverence,  make  His 
human  experience  the  type  of  our  own.  I  think, 
then,  this  must  have  been  one  of  the  saddest 
hours  in  the  whole  life  of  Jesus.  The  saddest 
of  all  hours  is  that  in  which  we  are  "  without  in 
desert  places."  The  desert  places  always  are 
"  without."  They  put  a  man  off  the  line  ;  they 
shunt  him.  There  is  no  pain  equal  to  the  pain 
of  being  off  the  line,  of  being  shunted.  To  feel 
that  you  are  not  running  with  the  stream,  to 
feel  that  you  have  been  left  behind  in  the  race, 
to  feel  that  you  are  not  in  communication  with 
the  main  current — this,  for  an  active  life,  is  a 
fearful  thing,  I  think  the  human  soul  of  Christ 
must    have    been    specially    straitened    at    this 


THE   UNPROMISING   ENVIRONMENT    233 

moment.  He  seemed  to  be  held  back  from  His 
baptism — held  back  by  the  sheer  force  of  an 
obscure  environment,  by  the  necessity  to  dwell 
alone.  And  yet,  what  was  the  state  of  the  case  ? 
Mark  tells  us.  He  says  that  Christ's  solitary 
hour  proved  to  be  His  most  crowded  hour, 
"  They  came  to  Him  from  every  quarter."  They 
made  His  desert  the  metropolis.  Can  you  point 
to  any  such  experience  in  your  life?  I  can  in 
mine.  I  can  declare,  in  looking  back,  that  the 
stone  I  repudiated  in  my  building  has  always 
proved  itself  the  head  of  the  corner.  There 
have  been  days  seemingly  uneventful  when  I 
have  felt  the  sense  of  neglect.  But  in  the 
retrospect  these  are  my  red-letter  days  ;  I  find 
that  in  their  cool  and  quiet  hours  the  Lord  God 
was  walking.  I  suppose  Philip  grumbled  when 
he  was  sent  into  the  desert ;  it  seemed  a  poor 
diocese  for  a  burning  missionary  spirit.  He  saw 
there  only  one  solitary  carriage  and  one  solitary 
man  in  it.  But  the  man  in  that  carriage  was 
himself  a  kingdom.  Philip  caught  in  one 
draught  more  fish  than  had  been  gathered  by  all 
the  disciples  together  in  the  boats  which  plied 
from   morning  till  evening. 

Lord,  I  have  seen  Thee  in  two  moments — a 
moment  in  the  city  and  a  moment  in  the  desert. 
I  have  seen  Thee  amid  the  exultant  crowd — Thy 
path   strewn   with   palm-leaves   and   Thine   ear 


234    THE  UNPROMISING  ENVIRONMENT 

greeted  with  plaudits  ;  and  I  have  seen  Thee 
treading  the  winepress  alone — the  palm-leaves 
all  withered  and  the  plaudits  all  silent.  And  as 
I  looked  I  said,  "  Surely  Thy  crowded  way  will 
he  Thy  glorious  way;  surely  the  desert  road 
will  have  no  place  in  Thy  kingdom ! "  But  lo, 
my  Lord,  it  has  been  all  otherwise !  It  is  Thy 
desert  that  has  broken  into  singing  ;  it  is  Thy 
wilderness  that  has  blossomed  as  the  rose  !  I 
called  Thy  w^reath  of  palms  God's  providence, 
and  I  called  Thy  w^reath  of  thorns  God's  cloud  ; 
but  the  palms  have  been  Thy  cloud  and  the 
thorns  have  been  Thy  sunshine.  The  suburb  has 
become  the  city  and  the  city  has  become  the 
suburb.  I  can  never  again  trust  my  judgment 
of  earthly  things ;  thou  hast  exalted  the  valley 
and  brought  ^he  mountain  low.  I  can  never 
again  distrust  my  desert  hour.  Each  manger 
henceforth  will  have  its  possible  star.  Each 
midnight  henceforth  will  have  its  possible  song. 
Each  swelling  Jordan  henceforth  will  have  its 
possible  vision.  Each  hunger  in  the  wilderness 
henceforth  will  have  its  possible  angel.  Each 
bitter  cup  henceforth  will  be  a  possible  gift  from 
my  Father.  Each  cross  of  to-day  will  hence- 
forth be  to-morrow^'s  possible  crown.  Thou  hast 
revealed  a  new  road  to  promotion,  for  Thou 
hast  entered  into  life  by  the  strait  gate  and 
the  narrow  way. 


LXXI 
NAZARETH  AND  CAPERNAUM 


"  Ye  will  surely  say  unto  Me,  Whatsoever  we  have  heard 
done  in  Capernaum,  do  also  here  in  Thine  own  country." — 
Luke  iv.  23. 


OUR  Lord  here  anticipates  an  objection  which 
will  be  raised  to  His  religion — which  w^ill 
be  raised,  not  by  those  remote  from  Him,  but  by 
those  nearest  to  Him.  He  says  that  the  com- 
plaint will  be  made  by  those  in  His  vicinity  that 
men  till  recently  outside  seem  more  privileged 
than  they.  And  truly  His  anticipation  has  been 
realised.  We  often  express  surprise  at  the 
glowing  rapture  of  souls  suddenly  converted. 
We  say,  with  the  elder  brother  in  the  parable, 
"  All  these  years  have  I  served  thee,  and  thou 
never  gavest  me  even  a  kid  that  I  should  make 
merry ;  but  when  my  brother  that  has  devoured 
thy  substance  has  come,  thou  hast  killed  for  him 
the  fatted  calf ! "  Never  did  our  Lord  show  a 
deeper  knowledge  of  human  nature.     Nazareth 

33d 


236        NAZARETH   AND   CAPERNAUM 

was  the  place  of  His  upbringing — the  place 
where  men  had  seen  Him  from  day  to  day  in 
unbroken  sequence ;  yet  in  Nazareth  He  had 
wrought  no  miracle.  Capernaum  w^as  an  out- 
side city  where,  as  yet,  He  had  little  been ;  but 
in  His  flying  visits  Capernaum  had  witnessed 
wonderful  works.  The  joy  of  Capernaum  was 
greater  than  the  joy  of  Nazareth.  And  the  joy 
of  Capernaum  always  is  greater  than  the  joy  of 
Nazareth.  Those  with  whom  Christ  has  abode 
since  their  childhood  see  less  of  His  miracles 
than  those  whom  He  unexpectedly  visits.  What 
then  ?  Is  the  privilege  of  Capernaum  greater 
than  the  privilege  of  Nazareth  ?  No,  assuredly. 
I  would  rather  live  in  Nazareth  than  in 
Capernaum.  What  is  the  difference  between 
maternal  love  and  romantic  love  ?  It  is  just 
the  difference  of  Nazareth  and  Capernaum. 
Maternal  love  is  unconscious  of  a  crisis ;  it 
has  known  and  loved  its  object  from  the 
very  beginning.  But  romantic  love  had  a 
convulsive  moment — a  moment  when  it  recog- 
nised its  ow^n  existence,  and  saw  its  object  in  a 
new  form.  Romantic  love  is  conscious  of  a 
miracle — of  a  transforming  hour  which  made 
life's  water  wine.  But  maternal  love  has  no 
sense  of  any  miracle  ;  it  says  to  its  object,  "  Son, 
thou  art  ever  with  me,  and  all  that  I  have  is 
thine."     And  just  on  that  account,  is  it  not  the 


NAZARETH  AND  CAPERNAUM   237 

better  love  !  It  is  too  habitual  to  be  Avonderful. 
It  breathes  too  freely  to  be  aware  of  its  breath- 
ing. It  is  its  very  place  which  keeps  it  from 
rapture  ;  it  has  less  joy  because  it  has  larger 
light. 

Lord,  there  are  still  among  us  those  w^ho  come 
to  Thee  by  night  and  those  who  come  to  Thee  by 
day.  There  are  some  like  Nicodemus ;  they  are 
driven  to  Thee  by  the  shadows  ;  they  seek  Thee 
as  a  refuge  from  doubt.  There  are  some  like 
Nathanael ;  they  find  Thee  when  they  are  sitting 
under  their  own  fig-tree — find  Thee  without  a 
struggle  in  their  souls.  Nathanael  often  laments 
his  want  of  a  night  experience.  He  weeps  that 
he  can  point  to  no  transition  moment — no 
moment  when  he  was  rescued  from  the  storm. 
Dry  his  tears,  O  Lord !  Tell  him  that  though 
the  younger  brother  has  more  credit,  the  elder 
has  more  comeliness  !  Tell  him  that  the  heart 
already  harmonious  needs  less  conflict !  If  I 
were  asked  to  choose,  I  would  rather  meet  Thee 
at  Nazareth  than  at  Capernaum.  Does  not  the 
gentleness  of  the  transit  indicate  the  congruity 
of  the  nature.  Does  it  not  mean  that  I  w^as 
already  at  the  door  of  Thy  dwelling,  waiting  to 
get  in.  I  know  Thou  hast  a  way  through  the 
sea  and  a  path  through  the  deep  ;  but  let  me  not 
despise  myself  that  I  found  Thee  among  the 
flowers  !     Rather  let  my  heart  be  glad  that  it 


238   NAZARETH  AND  CAPERNAUM 

bloomed  at  once  in  Thy  presence,  blazed 
instantaneously  into  summer  at  Thy  touch ! 
Rather  let  my  heart  be  glad  that  it  was  always 
so  near  to  Thee,  so  tuned  to  Thee !  Rather  let 
my  heart  be  glad  that  I  am  Thy  captive  un- 
conquered,  Thy  servant  unsubdued,  Thy  bonds- 
man unbroken.  Thy  follower  unfretted,  Thy 
convert  unconstrained,  Thy  messenger  unmuti- 
lated,  Thy  disciple  with  an  undimmed  eye  !  By 
this  I  know  that  I  was  made  for  Thee. 


LXXII 
THE  MYSTICAL  AND  THE   PRACTICAL 

"  How  precious  are  Thy  thoughts  unto  me,  O  God  1     When 
I  awake,  I  am  still  with  Thee." — Psa.  cxxxix.  17,  18. 

I  WAS  long  puzzled  to  find  the  connection 
of  these  words ;  and  the  commentators  did 
not  help  me.  At  last  I  think  I  have  found  it.  I 
interpret  thus  the  17th  and  18th  verses  :  "  To 
think  of  thee,  O  Lord,  is  a  very  precious  thing  ; 
Thy  mysteries  are  so  deep  that  I  get  lost  in 
reverie.  Yet  my  love  for  Thee  is  not  confined 
to  my  thinking  about  Thee.  When  I  awake 
from  my  reverie,  when  I  pass  into  the  active 
work  of  fife,  when  I  move  amid  earthly  objects 
and  engage  in  secular  pursuits,  my  heart  is  as 
much  with  Thee  as  when  I  am  alone  in  Thy 
presence ;  my  work  for  man  is  a  service  of 
Thee."  That  is  what  I  understand  the  Psalmist 
to  mean.  And  what  he  says  is  true.  It  is  not 
only  true  of  religious  love,  but  of  all  love.  If 
you  have  an  object  of  supreme  affection,  you  do 

239 


240  MYSTICAL  AND  PRACTICAL 

not  divide  your  day  between  your  love  for  him 
and  your  work  in  the  world.  There  is  no  part 
of  your  worldly  work  w^hich  is  not  lit  by  your 
love,  there  is  no  part  that  is  not  better  done 
on  account  of  your  love.  Love  will  help  your 
music  as  much  as  your  musing,  your  drawing- 
room  equally  with  your  dreaming,  your  social 
hour  not  less  than  your  silent  orison.  You  will 
walk  further  without  weariness,  fast  longer 
without  faintness,  compass  more  without  com- 
plaining. Love  can  muse  when  the  fire  burns; 
but  love  can  also  help  to  light  the  fire.  Love 
can  dream  of  its  object  dressed  in  gold ;  but 
love  can  also  mend  a  tattered  robe  and  repair  a 
rent  garment.  Love  can  say,  "  The  thought  of 
thee  is  precious  "  ;  but  love  can  also  cry,  "  My 
thought  of  other  things  is  helped  by  thee." 

Lord,  I  often  awake  from  my  dream  and  say, 
"  How  dreadful  is  this  place ! "  It  is  not  the 
dream  that  is  dreadful,  but  the  awakening. 
The  bustle  of  life  seems  incongruous  with  the 
hour  of  communion.  We  say,  "  The  sacramental 
symbols  are  about  to  be  withdrawn ;  we  are  going 
forth  from  the  Divine  Presence  into  the  w^orld 
once  more."  Nay,  my  Father,  then  were  the 
awakening  indeed  a  dreadful  place  ;  then  would 
I  cry  with  Moses,  "  If  Thy  presence  go  not  with 
us,  carry  us  not  up  hence  ! "  But  Thy  presence 
will  go  with  us  ;  in  our  waking  from  the  trance 


MYSTICAL   AND   PRACTICAL  241 

of  beauty  we  shall  be  still  with  Thee.  This 
world  would  be  truly  a  dreadful  place  without 
the  dream  of  Thee.  Thou  must  be  its  ivaking 
dream,  O  Lord.  I  need  the  poetry  of  life  to 
sustain  its  prose ;  I  cannot  walk  till  I  have 
been  on  the  wing.  They  tell  me  that  if  I  dream 
of  Thee  I  shall  be  unfitted  for  life's  reality.  Nay, 
my  Father ;  I  am  unfit  for  the  waking  without 
the  memory  of  the  dream.  It  is  in  vain  Thine 
angel  cries,  "  Let  me  go  !  for  the  day  breaketh." 
It  is  because  the  day  breaketh  that  I  cannot  let 
him  go.  The  daybreak  would  be  a  heart-break 
if  Thine  angel  were  not  there.  I  need  Thee  for 
the  hour  of  bustle,  I  need  Thee  for  the  hour  of 
burden.  I  cannot  tread  the  earth  till  I  have 
dwelt  in  heaven ;  I  am  unripe  for  this  world  till 
I  have  seen  the  world  to  come.  All  my  secular 
springs  are  in  Thee.  My  judgment  is  balanced 
in  Thee.  My  tremors  are  calmed  in  Thee.  My 
temper  is  sweetened  in  Thee.  My  foresight  is 
quickened  in  Thee.  My  face  is  radiated  in  Thee. 
My  voice  is  tuned  in  Thee.  My  action  is  grace- 
ful in  Thee.  My  politeness  is  complete  in  Thee. 
My  manner  is  brilliant  in  Thee.  I  am  never 
successful  in  the  secular  till  I  am  steeped  in  the 
power  of  the  sacred  ;  O  God  of  Bethel's  dream, 
guard  fast  my  waking  hours  ! 


17 


Lxxm 

SERVICE   IN   PROSTRATION 


"  Thus  saith  the  Lord,  The  people  which  were  left  of  the 
sword  found  grace  in  the  wilderness :  even  Israel,  when  I  went 
to  cause  him  to  rest." — Jbr.  xxxi.  2. 


WHAT  a  strange  time  to  find  grace ! — in  the 
wilderness  ! — in  the  place  where  the 
means  of  grace  are  not  expected  to  be  found ! 
There  is  a  deeper  paradox  still.  Jeremiah  says 
that  the  grace  came  just  at  that  moment  when 
the  fate  of  Israel  seemed  most  hopeless.  It 
came  when  God  "  caused  her  to  rest "  in  the 
wilderness — forbade  her  to  advance.  Do  you 
and  I  not  know  such  times  in  our  life — times 
of  enforced  inactivity.  I  think,  of  all  seasons 
of  adversity,  they  are  the  worst  to  bear.  No 
labour  of  the  hand  is  half  so  irksome  as  the 
hand's  paralysis.  There  is  something  which  is 
a  harder  trial  than  either  labour  or  ladenness  ; 
it  is  to  be  laid  aside  from  both.     The  wilderness 

942 


SERVICE   IN   PROSTRATION  243 

is  bad  enough ;  but  to  be  compelled  to  lie  down 
in  the  wilderness,  to  be  forced  to  fold  the  hands 
in  the  desert,  to  be  forbidden  to  take  a  step 
towards  extrication  from  the  calamity — this  is 
surely  a  fearful  thing,  the  most  fearful  thing  of 
all !  And  yet  it  was  from  these  dread  times  of 
enforced  inaction  that  Israel's  glory  sprang. 
She  never  sang  so  sweetly  as  at  night.  It  was 
when  her  harp-string  was  broken  that  her 
melody  w^as  most  melodious.  It  is  from  the 
desert  that  she  sings  the  song  of  Balaam.  It  is 
from  mountain  caves  that  she  sings  the  songs 
of  David.  It  is  from  a  land  of  exile  that  she 
sings  the  songs  of  Ezekiel  and  Jeremiah.  It  is 
from  the  ruins  of  her  dead  past  that  in  front  of 
her  second  temple  her  greatest  psalmists  sing. 
The  fragrance  of  the  ointment  has  come  from 
the  shattered  box ;  at  the  evening  time  there  has 
been  light.  Other  empires  have  reached  their 
glory  at  the  top  of  the  hill ;  Israel  has  found 
grace  in  the  wilderness — greatness  in  her  hour 
of  prostration. 

My  brother,  are  you  surprised  that  God  should 
compel  you  at  times  to  rest — should  weaken 
your  strength  in  the  way,  should  curtail  your 
power  of  action.  Are  you  surprised  that  He 
should  arrest  the  building  of  your  temple  or 
interrupt  your  missionary  journey  or  lay  you 
aside  from  active  service.     Have  you  ever  con- 


244  SERVICE   IN   PROSTRATION 

sidered  that  there  is  a  service  of  God  which  is 
not  active.  Have  you  ever  considered  that  there 
are  things  which  come  into  this  world  only  to 
he.  The  poet  speaks  of  flowers  born  to  blush 
unseen  and  waste  their  sweetness  on  the  desert 
air.  Why  "  waste "  ?  Are  there  not  three 
voices  of  the  verb  "  to  live  " — "  being,"  "  doing," 
and  "  suffering " !  There  are  flowers  of  the 
garden ;  they  make  garlands  of  joy ;  they  deck 
the  bouquet,  they  adorn  the  triumph.  There 
are  flowers  of  the  hospital ;  they  minister  to  the 
weary  eyes  of  those  in  pain.  But  there  are  also 
flowers  of  the  forest ;  they  have  no  mission  to 
man  whatever  ;  they  are  unobserved  by  human 
eye.  Are  they,  then,  wasted  ?  No  ;  they  have 
fulfilled  their  destiny.  They  have  come  into 
the  world  simply  to  he.  Their  mission  is  to 
declare  that  being  is  itself  beautiful.  Why  was 
your  infant  born  that  Kved  but  for  a  day  ?  To 
prove  the  value  of  one  spark  of  life  in  the  eyes 
of  your  Father — to  show  that  even  where  there 
is  no  wood  and  no  lamb  for  the  burnt-offering 
the  fire  itself  in  His  sight  is  infinitely  precious. 
Say  not  that  there  is  no  grace  in  the  wilderness ! 
Say  not  that  there  is  no  manna  in  the  desert ! 
Say  not  that  the  music  of  the  stream  is  useless 
when  it  strikes  upon  no  ear !  The  brook  sings 
not  in  vain  if  it  sings  to  your  Father.  The 
bird  carols  not  idly  if  it  carols  to  its  God.     The 


SERVICE   IN   PROSTRATION  245 

flower  blooms  not  wastefuUy  if  it  blooms  in  the 
heart  of  Heaven.  You  may  be  content  to  lie 
on  your  bed  and  be  silent  if  you  can  say  with 
the  Psalmist,  "My  voice  shalt  Thou  hear  in 
the  morning." 


LXXIV 

GRATITUDE  TO   OUR  FIRST  HELPERS 

"Andrew  first  findeth  his  own  brother  Simon." — John  i.  41. 

ANY  one  who  first  saw  these  two  brothers 
would  have  predicted  the  foremost  place 
for  Andrew.  It  was  he  that  brought  out  the 
genius  of  Peter.  Without  him  Peter  would  have 
been  nowhere — never  heard  of  in  the  Church  or 
the  world.  It  was  Andrew  who  caught  the 
original  flame  of  Christ;  Peter  only  lighted  a 
match  at  his  brother's  fire.  One  would  have 
said,  "  This  will  always  be  the  leading  man,  the 
dominant  man  ;  the  other  must  be  content  to  be 
a  satellite."  And  yet  the  judgment  would  have 
been  wrong  ;  Peter  was  the  planet  and  Andrew 
the  satellite.  Andrew  taught  Peter  to  run ; 
but  Peter  outstripped  him.  Andrew  lighted 
Peter's  lamp  ;  but  Peter  outshone  him.  Andrew 
planted  Peter's  soul ;  but  Peter  outgrew  him. 
Was  Andrew,  then,  a  failure  ;  did  he  belie  the 
magnificent  promise  of  his  morning?       No;  he 

246 


GRATITUDE   TO   FIRST   HELPERS      247 

fulfilled  that  promise.  He  had  a  particular 
mission  in  the  world — to  find  out  the  genius  of 
others  and  then  to  disappear.  There  are  men 
whom  God  raises  up  for  the  sake  of  those 
who  are  to  follow  them.  You  will  meet  them 
amongst  the  teachers  of  our  Sunday  schools  and 
day  schools.  The  relation  of  the  teacher  to  the 
pupil  is  the  relation  of  Andrew  to  Peter.  He  is 
at  present  above  his  boys;  but  in  the  natural 
course  of  things  his  boys  will  be  above  him. 
Just  because  they  belong  to  a  younger  genera- 
tion, they  are  likely  in  the  future  to  see  a  greater 
light.  The  teacher's  province  is  to  find  the  place 
for  each  lamp  and  to  set  it  aglow.  Its  glow  will 
probably  far  surpass  his  own ;  that  is  what  he 
should  wish,  that  is  what  he  should  strive  for. 
When  that  happens  it  will  not  prove  him  a 
failure,  but  a  success.  His  province  is  not  to 
plant  seeds  which  will  reach  the  height  of  pre- 
sent trees,  but  to  plant  seeds  which  will  surpass 
in  growth  all  the  trees  of  to-day.  If  he  is  a  good 
teacher  he  lives  for  his  own  dwarfing.  He  is  to 
find  those  who  will  be  fit  for  a  coming  age,  a 
larger  age,  an  age  that  will  require  higher 
capacities  to  guide  it.  Of  every  boy  in  his  school 
he  would  like  to  say,  "  He  must  increase,  but  I 
must  decrease."  He  is  a  lighter  of  lamps  for 
the  future — of  lamps  worthy  to  gladden  more 
developed  eyes  than  ours. 


2i8     GRATITUDE  TO  FIRST  HELPERS 

My  soul,  do  not  forget  those  who  have  found 
thee !  Remember,  somebody  has  found  thee. 
Be  thou  ever  so  much  a  Peter,  thou  hadst  once 
need  of  an  Andrew.  Somebody  started  thee  — 
somebody  that  is  now  inferior  to  thee.  Thou 
hast  outstripped  him,  but  he  gave  thee  wings. 
Do  not  forget  Andrew  because  thou  hast  out- 
stripped him — because  he  is  now  obscure  and 
unknown.  He  has  fulfilled  his  mission — and 
his  mission  was  to  find  thee.  Give  back  the 
debt  that  thou  owest !  Far  as  thou  hast  passed 
him  by,  thou  art  his  debtor.  It  was  his  flash 
that  set  thee  aflame.  It  was  perhaps  a  word 
spoken  by  the  wayside,  perhaps  a  cloud  dis- 
pelled in  the  class-room,  perhaps  a  mercy 
extended  to  misdeeds.  Wliatever  it  was,  it 
remains  thine  undischarged  debt  to  him.  He 
found  thee  in  thy  rising ;  go  back  to  find  him 
in  his  setting  !  He  may  be  dwelling  in  a 
garret.  He  may  be  living  in  a  den  of  poverty. 
He  may  be  struggling  with  the  wolf  at  the  door. 
He  may  have  been  left  high  and  dry  on  the  beach 
by  the  very  tide  that  was  moving  to  thee,  Yet 
that  beach  on  which  he  lies  should  be  sacred  to 
thee.  Look  back  on  it  betimes  from  the  sea  on 
which  thy  bark  is  gliding  !  Thine  eye  is  habitu- 
ally on  the  west — on  thy  sun's  completed  glory. 
Shall  it  not  rest  sometimes  on  the  east — on  the 
days  of  thy  dawn !     Thou  hast  years  of  hope ; 


GRATITUDE   TO   FIRST   HELPERS      249 

give  an  hour  to  memory  !  Thou  hast  a  hfetime 
of  aspiration ;  give  a  moment  to  retrospect ! 
Thou  art  flying  toward  the  noonday ;  give  a 
glance  backward  to  the  morning  !  Thou  art 
going  forward  to  meet  the  seraphim ;  retrace 
thy  steps  one  mile  to  greet  Andrew  !  Thou  art 
eager  for  thy  morrow ;  have  a  remembrance  of 
thy  yesterday !  Thou  art  pressing  toward  the 
ring  and  the  robe,  the  music  and  the  dancing ; 
but  oh,  forget  not  the  humble  hand  that  raised 
thee  from  the  swine  I 


LXXV 

CHRISTIAN    UNWORLDLINESS 


"  In  the  day  that  I  shall  have  cleansed  you  from  all  your 
iniquities,  I  will  also  cause  you  to  dwell  in  the  cities." — 
EzBK.  xxxvi.  33. 


I  CAN  imagine  one  exclaiming,  "  What  a  lame 
and  impotent  conclusion ! "  We  should 
have  expected  the  words  to  be,  "  In  the  day  that 
I  shall  have  cleansed  you  from  all  your  iniquities, 
I  shall  keep  you  from  getting  stained  any  more ; 
I  shall  place  you  in  a  garden  far  from  the  mad- 
ding crowd,  far  from  the  temptations  of  social 
influence."  But  it  seems  an  anti-climax  to  say, 
"  In  the  day  that  I  shall  have  cleansed  you  from 
all  your  iniquities,  I  shall  cause  you  to  dwell  in 
cities."  Is  it  not  the  dwelling  in  cities  that  has 
done  all  the  harm  !  Are  we  not  again  and  again 
cautioned  to  avoid  a  worldly  life,  to  love  not  the 
world  nor  the  things  of  the  world !  Yes,  but 
the  world  is  not  the  city.     We  are  all  in  a  delu- 

250 


CHRISTIAN  UNWORLDLINESS         251 

sion  about  this  matter.  We  think  of  worldliness 
as  a  life  in  the  crowd.  No,  it  is  a  life  in  the 
solitude — a  garden  life.  To  love  the  world  does 
not  mean  to  love  the  assembling  of  ourselves 
together.  It  means,  to  love  the  separation  from 
our  kind,  to  dwell  within  our  own  spirits, 
Worldliness  is  selfishness,  and  selfishness  is 
solitariness.  A  worldly  man  or  w^oman  is  never 
really  social.  A  w^orldling  is  always  a  monopo- 
list— one  who  seeks  to  absorb  all  the  profits. 
He  would  absorb  the  conversation.  He  w^ould 
absorb  the  attention.  He  would  absorb  the 
interest.  It  is  not  the  social  life  that  makes  the 
worldly  life  ;  it  is  the  curtailment  of  sociality. 
It  is  where  a  woman  of  fashion  aims  to  be  the 
only  fashion  that  the  world  has  sway.  It  is 
where  she  aspires  to  be  the  sole  magnet,  the  one 
attraction,  the  form  who  eclipses  every  other 
form — "fair  as  a  star  when  only  one  is  shining 
in  the  sky."  This  is  not  city  life  ;  it  is  solitary 
life,  lonely  life,  unshared  life  ;  it  is  life  apart 
from  the  crowd.  And  it  is  the  ideal  of  what 
God  would  have  life  not  to  be.  God  is  leading 
us  towards  a  city — a  city  which  hath  foun- 
dations in  the  reciprocity  of  human  gifts.  He 
is  leading  us  from  the  garden  to  the  town, 
from  the  individual  retreat  to  the  common 
brotherhood.  He  is  leading  us  from  the 
silence  of   the  field  into  the  fellowship   of  the 


252        CHRISTIAN  UNWORLDLINESS 

street,  from  the  meditation  into  the  market- 
place, from  the  life  of  the  unit  into  the  life  of 
the  universe. 

Lead,  kindly  Light,  lead  on!  Thy  leading  is 
not  whither  I  expected  ;  but  I  follow  in  faith. 
I  thought  Thou  hadst  come  to  take  me  out  of 
the  world.  I  thought  I  should  ascend  the  Mount 
and  build  my  tabernacle  there.  I  did  not  see 
that  this  was  only  Thy  morning  hour,  Thy 
rising  hour.  I  did  not  see  that  Thy  midday  was 
in  the  streets  and  lanes  where  the  traffic  rolls 
and  the  people  meet.  I  thought  the  mountain 
hour  was  the  unworldly  hour.  It  seemed  to  me 
more  pious  to  fast  in  the  wilderness  than  to 
serve  the  wine  at  Cana.  It  never  struck  me  that 
Cana  was  more  sacred  than  the  wilderness. 
Yet  to  Cana  Thou  hast  been  leading  me — to  the 
marriage-feast  of  human  souls.  And  as  I  tread 
the  crowded  pathway  I  see  that  Thou  hast  led 
me  right.  It  is  in  the  wilderness  that  the  world 
and  its  temptations  dwell.  My  soul's  vanity  is 
its  solitude.  I  speak  of  the  giddy  height,  and 
truly ;  the  height  above  the  crowd  is  always 
giddy.  Break  my  solitude,  O  Lord !  Withdraw 
me  from  the  world — which  is  the  wilderness ! 
Save  me  from  keeping  too  much  company  with 
myself  !  Guard  me  from  the  vanity  of  admiring 
my  own  loneliness  !  Protect  me  from  the  pride 
of  being  pre-eminent !     Hide  me  from  the  temp- 


CHRISTIAN   UNWORLDLINESS         253 

tations  of  the  unsocial  hour  !  Shield  me  frona 
the  danger  of  having  no  boon  companions  !  I 
shall  not  regret  my  expulsion  from  the  garden 
if  thereby  I  shall  find  a  place  in  Thy  city  of 
human  souls. 


LXXVI 

CHRIST'S    CHARITY  TO    THE  WAVERING 

"  When  he  saw  Jesus  afar  off,  he  ran  and  worshipped  Him, 
and  cried  with  a  loud  voice,  What  have  I  to  do  with  Thee, 
Jesus,  Thou  Son  of  the  most  high  God  !  I  adjure  Thee  by 
God,  that  Thou  torment  me  not." — Mark  v.  6,  7. 

WHAT  a  strange  contradiction  in  conduct ! 
A  man  is  so  eager  to  meet  Jesus  that 
lie  actually  runs  to  Him  from  a  far  distance 
and  worships  Him  as  the  Son  of  God !  And 
yet  immediately  afterwards  this  same  man  is 
distressed  by  the  possibility  of  contact  with 
the  Divine,  and  would  give  worlds  to  get 
away !  How  are  we  to  account  for  this  in- 
consistency !  But  is  it  inconsistency  ?  I  think 
not.  The  man  had  two  lives  in  him,  and  each 
life  w^as  consistent  with  himself ;  the  human 
personality  said  one  thing,  and  the  foreign 
spirit  said  another.  We  all  have  these  two 
lives  in  us  as  well  as  the  demoniac.  We  have 
a  life  which  is  all  our  own  and  we  have  a  life 
which    has  come    to    us    from    our    ancestors. 


CHRIST'S  CHARITY   TO   WAVERING     255 

Often  these  lives  pull  different  ways.  Often 
is  the  one  crying,  "  Jesus,  Thou  Son  of  God ! " 
while  the  other  is  exclaiming,  "I  adjure  Thee 
that  Thou  torment  me  not ! "  I  have  seen  a 
young  man  of  the  most  noble  impulses  mani- 
fest a  genuine  horror  of  Church  fellowship. 
His  own  impulse  was  to  run  to  Christ;  but 
there  Tvas  a  tendency  in  him  not  his  own — a 
hereditary  weakness — the  love  of  alcohol.  The 
cry  of  the  hereditary  spirit  was  opposed  to 
the  cry  of  the  man.  The  hereditary  spirit  felt 
that,  if  Christ  came  in,  it  must  go  out— go 
out  with  a  great  rending ;  it  dreaded  the 
rending  and  therefore  it  deprecated  the  Christ. 
But  I  want  to  point  out  that  of  these  two 
voices  Jesus  answered  the  nobler  one.  He 
accepted  the  man  in  spite  of  his  double  cry. 
He  accepted  the  man  although  the  ignoble 
voice  was  the  later  voice,  although  the  choice 
of  the  evil  appeared  last  upon  the  scene.  On 
what  ground  could  He  do  that?  On  one 
ground  only — that  there  is  something  in  the 
human  soul  for  which  it  is  not  chargeable,  not 
responsible.  He  looked  at  the  man  apart  from 
his  surroundings.  He  separated,  in  thought, 
the  pure  aspirations  of  the  individual  soul 
from  the  corruptions  it  had  derived  from  the 
air ;  and  the  verdict  He  pronounced  was  this, 
♦'  The  aspiration  is  the  man." 


256     CHRIST'S   CHARITY   TO   WAVERING 

O  Lord,  I  admire  and  reverence  the  exceed* 
ing  kindness  of  Thy  love.  How  few  of  us 
would  have  accepted  such  a  halting  approach ! 
We  should  all  have  said,  "The  last  state  of 
the  man  is  worse  than  the  first ;  we  will  not 
let  him  in."  Not  so  Thou.  Thou  receivest 
not  only  sinners,  but  what  is  worse — lapsed 
Christians.  It  is  not  good  to  be  impervious 
to  beauty;  but  to  have  seen  the  beauty  and 
to  have  then  gone  back  to  ugliness — that  is 
sad  indeed.  Yet  even  to  such  Thou  hast 
opened  Thy  doors,  O  Lord.  Many  there  be 
that  have  run  to  Thee  from  afar  and  yet 
recoiled  from  the  close  pressure  of  Thy  hand. 
Did  I  not  see  them  in  the  Garden  with  Thee  ! 
Couldst  Thou  have  any  fellowship  with  those 
who  could  meet  Thee  in  the  Garden  and  shun 
Thee  in  the  judgment-hall !  If  they  who  ran 
to  greet  me  in  the  morning  fled  from  me  at 
night,  I  would  never  speak  to  them  again. 
But  Thou  art  not  like  me.  Thou  hast  ac- 
cepted the  first  voice  as  the  true  voice.  Thou 
hast  attributed  the  after-failure  to  another 
spirit — a  foreign  spirit.  Thou  hast  judged  me 
by  my  early  song.  My  voice  hast  Thou  heard 
"  in  the  morning,"  O  Lord.  Thou  hast  not 
measured  me  by  the  afternoon — when  heart 
and  flesh  are  weary  with  the  burden  and 
heat  of  the  day.     Thou  hast  taken  my  trill  for 


CHRIST'S   CHARITY  TO   WAVERING     257 

my  triumph,  my  desire  for  my  deed,  my  will 
for  raiy  work,  my  cry  for  my  conduct,  my 
flower  for  my  fruit,  my  dawn  for  my  day,  my 
faith  for  my  following,  the  sigh  of  my  heart 
for  the  service  of  my  hand.  Marvellous  to 
me  has  been  Thy  mercy,  O  Lord. 


18 


LXXVII 

THE   ROAD   TO   COMPANIONSHIP 

"  Go  into  the  wilderness  to  meet  Moses." — Exod.  iv.  27. 

THE  words  were  spoken  to  Aaron.  The 
going  into  the  wilderness  is  not  com- 
monly suggestive  of  sociality.  A  wilderness 
is  deemed  a  lonely  place.  They  who  enter  it 
are  supposed  to  be  shunted,  driven  from  the 
presence  of  their  kind,  deprived  of  the  means 
of  future  usefulness.  When  the  Providence  of 
God  calls  a  man  to  the  metropolis,  we  feel  that 
there  is  a  fitness  in  things — that  the  energies 
of  a  human  soul  have  been  summoned  into  an 
environment  where  they  w^ill  receive  full  play. 
But  when  God  calls  a  man  into  the  wilder- 
ness— lays  him  on  a  bed  of  sickness  or  loads 
him  with  a  heavy  burden,  we  are  startled  with 
a  sense  of  incongruity ;  we  say,  "  To  what 
purpose  is  this  waste  ! "  We  should  have  said 
so  in  Aaron's  case.  God  says  to  him,  "  Go 
into    the    wilderness."     I   know    not    in    what 

996 


THE  ROAD  TO   COMPANIONSHIP      259 

form  the  command  came.  I  should  think  it 
took  the  shape  of  a  moment  of  physical  or 
mental  prostration  such  as  came  to  Elijah 
after  the  excitement  of  Carmel.  If  so,  Aaron 
would  be  an  object  of  general  pity ;  he  would 
be  deemed  a  man  whose  life  was  done.  His 
life,  in  truth,  was  only  beginning  ;  and  it  was 
beginning  through  this  seeming  loss.  When 
he  went  out  from  the  world  into  the  wilder- 
ness he  went  right  into  the  arms  of  his 
destiny.  "Go  into  the  wilderness  to  meet 
Moses "  was  the  plan  written  in  heaven.  It 
seems  a  plan  commonplace  enough.  He  had 
met  Moses  a  thousand  times.  Moses  was  his 
own  brother.  They  had  been  in  constant 
intercourse ;  how  could  this  meeting  change 
his  destiny?  But  when  we  question  thus,  we 
forget  one  thing.  A  man's  destiny  seldom 
turns  on  the  advent  of  new  circumstances.  A 
thing  may  happen  to  us  a  hundred  times,  and 
the  hundred-and-first  may  be  a  crisis.  Saul 
of  Tarsus  had  seen  the  sun  many  times  ;  but 
the  sun  at  Damascus  was  one  too  many  for 
him.  Aaron  had  met  Moses  often ;  but  the 
meeting  in  the  wilderness  was  to  reveal  each 
to  the  other  in  a  new  light.  The  common 
participation  in  a  desert  experience  was  to 
knit  their  hearts  together  as  they  had  never 
been  knit  before. 


260      THE  ROAD  TO  COMPANIONSHIP 

Reject  not  thy  wilderness  moments,  O  my 
soul !  Reject  not  the  moments  when  thy 
spirit  is  broken !  If  the  alabaster  box  had 
been  conscious  of  its  brokenness,  it  would 
have  said  w^ith  Judas,  "  To  what  purpose  is 
this  waste ! "  Yet  it  had  no  fragrance  till  it 
was  broken  ;  the  hour  of  its  triumph  was  the 
hour  of  its  tragedy ;  it  filled  all  the  house  in 
the  act  of  its  impoverishment.  So  shall  it  be 
with  thee,  O  my  soul.  Never  dost  thou  fill 
the  house  of  humanity  till  thou  hast  had  an 
experience  of  the  wilderness.  It  is  the  wilder- 
ness that  unites  thee  to  thy  kind.  It  is  there 
thou  wilt  meet,  not  Moses  merely,  but  all 
men.  Which  was  more  lonely  to  Jesus — the 
wilderness  of  Judea  or  the  marriage-feast  of 
Cana?  I  say  it  was  Cana.  The  wilderness 
had  more  promise  and  more  facilities  as  a 
place  of  future  rendezvous.  Cana  is  not  a 
place  which  all  visit ;  but  the  wilderness  is. 
We  have  all  our  moments  of  joy ;  but  we  do 
not  all  rejoice  in  the  same  thing :  thy  moun- 
tain need  not  be  thy  brother's  mountain.  But 
thy  valley  is  always  thy  brother's  valley.  We 
do  not  all  label  the  same  things  by  the  name 
"  Happy " ;  but  we  all  label  the  same  things 
by  the  name  "Sad" — death,  sickness,  pain, 
bereavement,  failure,  weariness.  Not  the 
crown,  but   the   cross,  is  thy  symbol  of  union. 


THE  ROAD  TO   COMPANIONSHIP      261 

There  are  special  roads  to  gladness ;  there  is 
a  common  road  to  grief.  Every  man  has  his 
own  Cana ;  we  have  all  the  same  Village-of- 
Nain.  The  sunshine  may  divide  us ;  the  night 
brings  us  home.  We  may  be  lonely  in  our 
light ;  but  we  have  "  fellowship  in  the  mystery." 
The  key  into  thy  brother's  heart  is  the  key 
that  has  fallen  in  the  mire ;  thou  shalt  meet 
him  in  thy  wilderness,  O  my  soul. 


LXXVIII 

THE  BOUNDARY-LINE  OF  CHRIST'S 
COMMUNION 

"  When  Jesus  knew  it,  He  withdrew  Himself  from  thence.** 
— Matt.  xii.  15. 

WHEN  Jesus  knew  it."  Knew  what? 
That  the  Pharisees  had  conspired 
against  Him.  Whenever  He  found  that  a  con- 
trary spirit  was  in  the  air  He  withdrew  His 
presence.  And  verily  He  was  right.  There  is 
no  hope  of  reveahng  anything  to  an  adverse 
wiU.  That  is  a  barrier  to  all  revelation.  I 
know  of  hardly  any  other  barrier.  How  seldom 
in  the  Gospel  narrative  does  Christ  confess  to 
an  impassable  obstacle !  There  are  very  few 
circumstances  from  which  He  Trithdraws  Him- 
self. He  does  not  shrink  from  speaking  to  a 
child.  He  does  not  shrink  from  speaking  to  a 
doubter.  He  does  not  shrink  from  speaking  to 
a  tempted  soul.  He  has  no  fear  that  His  voice 
will    not    penetrate    throvigh    the    wall    which 

202 


CHRIST'S  BOUNDARY-LINE  263 

hides  the  heart  of  a  Nicodemus  or  a  Thomaa 
or  a  Magdalene.  But  He  does  shrink  from  an 
adverse  will.  That  is  the  reason  why  He  puts 
the  prayer  "  Thy  will  be  done "  before  "  Lead 
us  not  into  temptation."  If  it  were  definitely 
announced  from  heaven  that  next  Sunday 
every  one  who  attended  church  should  in- 
stantaneously be  impelled  to  abandon  his  evil 
life,  it  would  be  the  smallest  attendance  of  the 
year.  Augustine's  is  no  exceptional  prayer, 
"  O  Lord,  convert  me — but  not  yet ! "  Christ's 
greatest  barrier — the  wall  from  vrhich  He  is 
constrained  to  withdraw — is  an  adverse  will, 
the  wish  for  something  opposite.  A  revelation 
can  pierce  through  every  thing  but  one — an 
opposing  interest.  That  was  Christ's  heaviest 
obstacle — the  obstacle  from  which  He  shrank. 
Why  did  He  put  out  the  hired  mourners  before 
healing  the  daughter  of  Jairus  ?  It  was  because 
the  hired  mourners  had  a  contrary  interest  to 
Himself.  It  was  His  interest  that  the  healing 
should  be  rapid  ;  it  was  theirs  that  it  should  be 
slow.  They  were  paid  by  the  time  of  their 
service ;  it  was  for  their  advantage  to  pro- 
long the  household  grief.  Jesus  resented  the 
counter  current.  He  could  bear  with  doubt. 
He  could  bear  with  temptation,  He  could  bear 
with  sin  ;  but  with  the  presence  of  an  adverse 
sympathy  He  could  not  bear. 


264  CHRIST'S  BOUNDARY-LINE 

Lord,   I   should    like    to    see    a    membership 

based   on  one  quality — the  will   to   believe.      I 

would  have  a  preliminary  Church  gathered  for 

Thee — a  Church  of  those  who  desire.     I  would 

call   it   Thy   Beginners'   Church.      I   would   ask 

from  Thy  beginners  no  creed ;  I  would  demand 

from    them   no   confession  ;    I   would   prescribe 

for  them  no  catechism.     I  would  only  ask  the 

desire — the  will  to  believe.     I  would  say,  "  Enter 

ye  to  whom  doubt  is  a   burden,  to   whom   the 

cloud  is  a  calamity — ye  who  are  longing  to  find 

rest ! "      I  feel   sure,   O   Lord,   that  those   who 

thus  come  Thou  wilt  in  no  wise  cast  out.     They 

will  come  without  credentials,   they  will   come 

without  examination,  they   will   come   without 

maturity ;    yet   they   will    be    received    as    the 

bearers   of   Thy    banner.      They  will  have  but 

one  watchword,  and  that  watchword  will  be  a 

wish.     They  will  have  no  language  but  a  cry, 

but  their  cry  will  be  a  crown.     Thou  wilt  draw 

near  to  them ;  and  the  world  will  wonder.      It 

will  wonder  to  see  the  Jew  asking  drink  of  the 

Samaritan — the  Christ  cradled  on  the  bosom  of 

the   creedless.      But   we  shall  not  wonder  ;  we 

shall  rejoice  to  see  the  star  over  the  manger. 

We   shall   claim  a  wider  membership  than  we 

claimed    yesterday.      We  shall  say,    "  I   belong 

to  the  Church  of  the  desiring,  to  the  generation 

of  them  that   seek  Thee."     Thou  wilt  welcome 


CHRIST'S   BOUNDARY-LINE  265 

those  that  wish  for  Thee  ;  Thou  wilt  live  with 
those  who  long  for  Thee  ;  and  Thou  wilt  not 
withdraw  from  those  who  can  subscribe  to  this 
one  prayer,  "  O  that  I  knew  where  I  might 
find  Him  1 " 


LXXIX 

THE    INDIRECT    EFFECTS    OF 
CHRISTIANITY 

"  Behold,  waters  issued  out  from  under  the  threshold  of  the 
house." — EzBK.  xlvii.  1. 

THE  healing  waters  of  God's  temple  are  not 
limited  to  the  inside  ;  they  come  through 
the  door  to  the  outer  world.  The  idea  I  take 
to  be  that  the  outer  Tv^orld,  the  secular  world, 
is  to  receive  an  indirect  benefit  from  Messianic 
times — that  even  those  who  do  not  accept  the 
Messiah  are  to  be  affected  by  His  atmosphere. 
"Thou  hast  received  gifts,  even  among  the 
rebellious  "  is  the  striking  statement  of  a  Jewish 
poet.  And  it  expresses  a  profound  truth  regard- 
ing the  Messiah's  kingdom.  In  one  sense  that 
kingdom  is  confined  to  a  comparatively  small 
number  ;  so  far  as  its  actual  membership  is 
concerned  it  is  limited  in  its  range.  But  its 
influence  has  gone  far  beyond  its  membership; 

266 


EFFECTS   OF  CHRISTIANITY         267 

the  waters  have  issued  from  under  the  threshold 
of  the  door.  The  unchristianised  India  of  the 
twentieth  century  is  in  a  totally  different 
position  from  the  unchristianised  India  of  the 
first.  And  why  so  ?  Because  Christ  is  not 
only  the  head  of  the  Church  but  the  head  of 
principalities  and  powers.  He  has  not  only 
regenerated  the  soul ;  He  has  raised  the  body. 
He  has  changed  the  fashion.  He  has  refined 
society.  He  has  softened  the  law^s.  He  has 
sweetened  the  manners.  He  has  repressed  the 
power  of  kings.  He  has  mitigated  w^ars.  He 
has  ennobled  sacrifice.  He  has  enlarged  charity. 
He  has  exalted  woman.  He  has  beautified  the 
altar  of  family  life.  Christ  is  not  only  in  the 
creed  but  in  the  air.  "  Of  His  fulness  we  have 
all  received  "—Christian  and  Pagan,  believer  and 
unbeliever,  convert  and  opponent.  A  lady  said 
to  me  the  other  day,  "  Can  you  explain  how  it 
is  that  a  friend  of  mine  who  is  an  absolute 
unbeliever  lives  as  if  she  were  a  Christian  ? " 
I  have  no  difficulty  in  explaining  it.  I  may 
put  Christ  out  of  my  creed ;  but  I  cannot  put 
Him  out  of  my  atmosphere.  I  may  refuse  to 
hear  Him ;  but  I  cannot  refuse  to  breathe  Him. 
He  meets  me  on  that  very  road  to  Damascus 
where  I  have  gone  to  persecute  Him.  I  may 
reject  the  faith  ;  but  I  cannot  get  rid  of  Hia 
face. 


268        EFFECTS   OF  CHRISTIANITY 

O  Thou  who  art  the  water  of  life,  I  thank 
Thee  that  Thou  art  not  confined  to  Thy 
sanctuary.  The  streams  of  Thy  river  make 
glad  Thy  city ;  but  they  make  glad  more  than 
that ;  they  come  out  into  the  world  of  men. 
I  can  say  of  Thee,  O  Christ,  "  Whither  can  I 
flee  from  Thy  presence  I "  The  image  of  Thy 
Cross  is  everywhere.  I  cannot  shut  Thee  out 
by  closing  my  Bible.  If  I  go  into  the  market- 
place, I  escape  not  the  sight  of  Thy  great  white 
throne  ;  men  in  the  exchange  have  learned  to 
judge  themselves  by  Thy  standard  ;  their 
code  of  commercial  honour  is  based  on  Thee. 
If  I  go  into  the  drawing-room,  I  cannot  escape 
the  sight  of  Thy  throne ;  all  my  criticisms  on 
society  are  answers  to  the  question,  What 
would  Jesus  do  ?  If  I  traverse  the  field  of 
pleasure,  I  cannot  escape  the  sight  of  Thy 
throne ;  I  measure  the  value  of  the  bread  by 
its  power  to  go  round  the  multitude.  Thy 
Sermon  on  the  Mount  rings  over  my  plain. 
Thy  voice  at  Cana  sanctifies  my  joy.  Thine 
hour  in  the  wilderness  illumines  my  solitude. 
Thy  home  at  Nazareth  kindles  my  household 
fire.  Thy  moments  at  Bethany  bless  my 
friendships.  Thy  sojourn  in  Sidon  enlarges 
my  charity.  Thy  visit  to  the  tax-gatherer 
glorifies  my  business  calling.  Thou  hast 
given   Thyself   to   the   Father ;   but   Thou  hast 


EFFECTS  OF  CHRISTIANITY  269 

also  paid  tribute  unto  Caesar — enriched  the 
world  as  a  world.  I  bless  Thee  that  the 
waters  of  Thy  life  have  flowed  through  the 
door  of  the  temple  into  the  bosom  of  the  re- 
bellious. 


LXXX 

NEHEMIAH'S    CURE    FOR    PHYSICAL 
LANGUOR 

"  Neither  be  ye   sorry ;  for  the  joy  of  the  Lord  is  your 
strength." — Neh.  viii.  10. 

THERE  is  something  very  suggestive  about 
this  passage.  Nehemiah  is  addressing  the 
people.  His  aim,  above  all  things,  is  to  inspire 
them  to  work.  A  neTV  nation  is  forming ; 
and  a  new  nation,  beyond  everything  else, 
requires  energy.  Nehemiah's  advice,  therefore, 
is  directed  toward  energy.  What  is  that 
advice  ?  What  is  his  recipe  for  becoming 
strong?  Does  he  say,  "Take  plenty  of  exer- 
cise," "Take  plenty  of  food,"  "Take  plenty  of 
fresh  air "  ?  None  of  these  is  the  distinctive 
precept  on  which  he  lays  stress.  His  anxiety 
points  in  another  direction.  He  looks  round 
on  the  multitude  and  sees  a  mass  of  downcast 
faces.  He  is  afraid  of  the  downcastness ;  he 
thinks  this  will  sap  their  strength  more  than 

870 


CURE  FOR  PHYSICAL  LANGUOR      271 

will  any  physical  want.  Accordingly,  it  is  their 
depression  that  he  blames.  He  says,  in  effect : 
"  You  are  undermining  your  physical  strength 
by  your  pessimism.  A  strong  body  is  not 
built  by  a  sad  heart.  The  powerful  frame  is 
created  by  pleasant  feelings.  If  you  desire 
weight  to  your  hand,  keep  your  heart  light. 
If  you  would  avoid  weary  feet,  keep  your 
spirit  on  the  wing.  If  you  would  be  capable 
of  the  burden,  keep  your  soul  buoyant.  Your 
force  lies  in  your  felicity ;  your  strength  is 
your  joy."  But  observe,  Nehemiah  qualifies 
the  statement.  He  does  not  say  that  every 
joy  will  make  a  man  strong ;  his  words  are, 
"The  joy  of  the  Lord  is  your  strength."  And 
he  is  quite  right  in  this  limitation.  The  joy 
which  strengthens  must  be  unselfish  joy.  I  do 
not  think  that  joy  about  personal  good-fortune 
is  a  whit  more  invigorating  to  the  body  than 
grief  for  personal  loss.  They  are  both  weaken- 
ing. Pope  Clement  the  Seventh  died  of  sorrow 
for  a  defeat ;  but  his  successor,  Leo  the  Tenth, 
died  of  exultation  for  a  victory.  Personal  ex- 
citement, whether  through  laughter  or  through 
tears,  paralyses  the  work  of  the  hour.  If  in 
the  midst  of  writing  an  article  you  heard  that 
you  had  come  into  a  great  fortune,  I  do  not 
think  you  would  write  a  line  more  that  day. 
But  if  you  heard  the  same  news  of  one  whom 


272      CURE   FOR  PHYSICAL  LANGUOR 

you  loved,  and  whose  poverty  had  given  you 
pain,  you  would  be  fanned  by  an  inspiration 
which  would  make  the  pen  fly.  What  marks 
the  difference  ?  It  is  this — the  one  is  the  joy 
of  the  flesh ;  the  other  is  the  joy  of  the 
Lord. 

Lord,  set  Thy  joy  before  me.  Thine  imper- 
sonal joy,  the  joy  of  seeking  and  saving  that 
which  was  lost !  Nothing  else  will  make  me 
strong  enough  to  endure  the  cross  and  despise 
the  shame.  I  hear  Thy  voice  saying,  "  Go, 
work  to-day  in  My  vineyard."  But  my  heart 
is  heavy,  O  Lord,  my  heart  is  heavy.  I  have 
been  losing  in  the  mart  of  commerce,  and  the 
sting  of  the  loss  is  photographed  everywhere. 
It  lends  rapidity  to  the  rain,  stoniness  to  the 
street,  weariness  to  the  way.  It  makes  the 
stairs  steeper  to  climb,  the  dwellings  drearier 
to  visit,  the  rust  and  moth  more  rampant,  the 
panes  of  the  windows  more  opaque,  the  dust 
on  the  floors  more  deep,  the  path  of  the  poor 
more  repelling.  What  am  I  to  do,  O  Lord ! 
It  is  in  vain  they  tell  me  to  do  Thy  will.  I 
can  do  Thy  will ;  but  as  long  as  it  is  outside 
of  mine  I  am  a  weak  workman.  I  want  Thy 
will  to  be  mine,  O  Lord ;  I  shall  be  weary  in 
Thy  work  till  I  love  what  Thou  lovest.  Give 
me  Thy  joy  in  helping  the  jaded !  Give  me 
Thy   rapture   in   saving   the   ruined  !     Give  me 


CURE  FOR  PHYSICAL  LANGUOR      273 

Thy  thrill  in  appeasing  the  desert  thirst ! 
Shorten  lane  and  alley  through  my  love  of 
the  poor !  Lessen  dust  and  mire  through  my 
devotion  to  the  toiler !  Abridge  the  height  of 
stairs  through  the  fleetness  of  human  sym- 
pathy !  Conceal  repulsive  sights  through  the 
rainbow  in  my  soul !  Hide  the  gloom  of  the 
present  through  the  gladness  of  the  promise! 
Drown  fatigue  by  fervour ;  kill  enervation  by 
earnestness ;  disperse  w^eakness  by  the  winds  of 
the  Spirit ;  slay  torpor  by  inward  transport ; 
obscure  the  mean  cradle  by  the  coming  Christ ! 
My  strength  will  come  when  I  enter  into 
Thy  joy. 


19 


LXXXI 

CHRIST'S    FIRST    TEMPTATION 


'*  When  the  tempter  came  to  Him,  he  said,  If  thou  be  the 
Son  of  God,  command  that  these  stones  be  made  bread." — 
Matt.  iv.  3. 


WHEN  Satan  first  tempted  Christ  he  tried 
to  make  Him  a  pessimist.  He  pointed 
to  the  scarcity  of  bread  in  the  world.  He 
suggested  to  Jesus  that  a  Divine  Government 
would  require  a  radical  change  in  human  con- 
ditions— that  the  ordinary  provision  for  man's 
wants  was  quite  disproportionate  to  the  re- 
sources of  a  benevolent  God.  Satan  always 
begins  by  seeking  to  make  us  pessimists.  It 
is  not  in  our  happy  moments  that  we  are 
most  apt  to  be  tempted.  It  is  when  the  sun 
is  low,  when  our  fortunes  are  down,  when  our 
spirits  are  depressed.  The  preliminary  step  to 
all  temptation  is  an  introduction  into  the 
wilderness.  And  what  was  this  temptation 
itself?     It  was   the   suggestion    to    abolish    all 


CHRIST'S  FIRST  TEMPTATION        275 

necessity    for    work,     "  Command     that     these 
stones  be  made  bread."     There   is   an   equality 
which  men  have  a  right  to  hope  for ;  they  are 
entitled  to  ask  an  equal  chance  of  earning  their 
daily   sustenance.      But    the    tempter    suggests 
equality  by  an  opposite  method.     He  proposes 
that    all    men    alike    should   lose   the   need    of 
earning  daily  sustenance.     He  would  have  the 
common  stones  of  the  quarry  transmuted  into 
that   sustenance   so   that    life    through    all    its 
borders     might     become    one    unstinted    feast. 
"  What  a  benevolent  scheme  of  philanthropy  ! " 
you     cry ;     "  why     should     Satan     be     such     a 
wondrous   friend  of   man ! "     But  was  it  bene- 
volent?    Imagine    for     a     moment     that     God 
granted    such    a    prayer    to    the    human   race. 
For  one  day  it  would  be  hailed  as  the  millen- 
nium— flags   would   be   waving,  banners   would 
be  streaming,  every  Jerusalem  would  be  strewn 
with  palm-leaves.     Bvit   to-morrow   the    shouts 
would   be   feebler   and   the   songs  less  tuneful ; 
the    day    after,   there   would    be    silence ;  in    a 
week,  the  palms  would  wither ;  in  a  month,  the 
heart  would  moan ;  in  the  fulness  of  the  years, 
humanity   would   faint    for   want   of    interests. 
Love  would  have  none  to  labour  for,  pity  none 
to    provide    for,    symj)athy   none    to    sigh   for, 
tenderness   none   to   toil   for,  compassion   none 
to    care    for,   benevolence    none    to    bend    for, 


276        CHRIST'S  FIRST  TEMPTATION 

graciousness  none  to  give  for,  kindness  none 
to  kindle  for,  mercy  none  to  mourn  for.  To 
make  stones  into  bread  would  ere  long  make 
hearts  into  stones. 

"  Strong  Son  of  God,  Immortal  Love,"  I 
thank  Thee  that  Thou  hast  not  made  void 
the  charities  of  man  to  man.  I  thank  Thee 
that  Thou  didst  not  listen  to  the  tempter 
when  he  asked  Thee  to  make  the  stones  bread. 
If  Thou  hadst  it  would  no  more  have  been 
communion  bread ;  we  should  have  gathered 
it  like  pebbles  and  thrown  much  of  it  in  the 
sea.  I  bid  a  friend  to  a  social  repast,  and  he 
feels  the  charm  of  my  hospitality;  but  that  is 
because  it  has  cost  me  something.  He  would 
not  feel  it  if  Thou  hadst  answered  the 
tempter's  prayer — if  the  bread  were  as 
plenteous  as  stones ;  for  the  value  of  the 
festive  board  is  the  sacrifice  which  has  spread 
it.  I  bless  Thee,  O  Lord,  that  Thou  hast  left 
in  life  doors  for  me  to  open.  I  bless  Thee 
that  the  stream  of  manna  does  not  fall  from 
heaven  upon  our  wilderness.  I  bless  Thee  that 
Thou  hast  caused  the  stream  to  flow,  not  from 
heaven,  but  from  earth.  I  praise  Thy  holy 
name  that  Thou  hast  established  human  sus- 
tenance in  man's  humanity  to  man.  I  magnify 
that  love  which  has  necessitated  love.  My  love 
would  be  useless  if  the  stones  were  bread ;  let 


CHRIST'S   FIRST   TEMPTATION        277 

them  rest  unchanged  in  the  quarry  !  But  trans- 
form my  stony  heart,  O  Lord !  Wake  me  with 
the  cry  of  the  weary !  Stir  me  with  the  pulse 
of  the  struggling !  Pain  me  with  the  hunger 
of  the  poor !  Haunt  me  with  the  thought  of 
the  homeless !  Load  me  with  the  burdens  of 
the  labouring !  Bruise  me  with  the  scars  of  the 
baffled !  Freeze  me  with  the  cold  of  the  fire- 
less  !  Crush  me  with  the  woes  of  the  unclad ! 
So  shall  I  make  my  clouds  Thy  chariots ;  so 
shall  my  love  be  perfected  in  stony  places. 


LXXXII 

CHRISTIAN  WITNESS-BEARING 

"There  was  a  man  sent  from  God;    the  same  came  for 
witness,  to  bear  witness  of  the  Light." — John  i.  6,  7. 

A  MAN  sent  from  God  to  bear  witness — 
that  was  surely  a  vast  machinery  for 
a  very  trivial  end !  We  could  understand  a 
man  sent  from  God  to  give  a  revelation.  We 
could  understand  a  man  sent  from  God  to 
make  a  discovery.  We  could  understand  a 
man  sent  from  God  to  be  a  redeemer.  But 
to  bear  witness  to  a  belief — is  not  that  an 
easy  thing,  a  thing  which  any  man  could  do  ! 
No  ;  I  think  it  is  just  the  most  difficult  thing 
in  the  world — especially  if  the  belief  happens 
to  be  unfashionable.  If  you  know  a  man  to 
be  misrepresented  by  his  enemy  and  if  that 
enemy  should  be  one  whom  you  wish  to  con- 
ciliate, it  is  very  difficult  for  you  to  avoid 
keeping  silence ;  you  find  it  safer  not  "  to 
bear    witness."      The    sin    of    society   is    often 

378 


CHRISTIAN  WITNESS-BEARING       279 

said  to  be  evil-speaking.  I  do  not  think  so. 
I  think  it  is  failure  to  speak  good.  You  sit 
beside  one  at  dinner  who  descants  upon  the 
fault  of  another.  You  know  that  to  believe 
in  the  fault  of  that  other  is  a  pleasure  to 
him,  for  he  does  not  like  the  man.  You  are 
quite  aware  all  the  time  that  the  allegation  is 
exaggerated.  But  you  would  be  sorry  to  lose 
the  opportunity  of  winning  the  favour  of  your 
companion.  He  is  a  man  of  influence ;  he  can 
help  you;  he  is  worth  cultivating.  Your 
resort  is  therefore  to  silence.  You  do  not 
echo  his  testimony ;  but  you  abstain  from 
contradicting  it ;  you  mutter  something  like, 
"  Oh,  if  that  is  the  case  it  is  very  bad  ! "  It 
is  far  easier  to  believe  in  a  thing  than  to 
bear  witness  to  a  thing.  When  I  was  a  very 
young  man  a  lady  once  said  to  me  with 
great  earnestness,  "  If  you  ever  find  any  truth 
in  spiritualism,  be  sure  you  do  not  tell  it; 
it  will  hurt  your  ministry  with  influential 
people."  That  advice  was  typical  both  of 
modern  and  ancient  society.  Christianity  was 
as  unpopular  in  the  first  century  as  spiritual- 
ism is  in  the  twentieth.  Every  heathen  mother 
cried  to  her  converted  son,  "  Don't  tell  I "  His 
chances  of  promotion  required  that  he  should 
bow  in  the  temple  of  Rimmon  even  while  he 
worshipped  Christ  in   the    shrine   of   his  heart. 


280       CHRISTIAN   WITNESS-BEARING 

Witness-bearing  was  so  superhuman  a  thing 
that  God  had  to  send  a  man  from  Himself  to 
do  it — had  to  pour  into  a  human  soul  a  flood 
of  special  inspiration  that  it  might  witness 
for  the  good. 

Lord,  wherever  I  see  a  light  in  my  brother, 
help  me  to  bear  witness  to  that  light !  When 
I  hear  the  world  enumerate  his  dark  spots, 
give  me  grace  to  say,  "  Look  at  that  one 
white  beam "  !  It  will  often  be  my  interest 
to  keep  silence.  My  brother  may  be  unpopular 
with  the  world — may  be  even  at  variance  with 
myself.  All  the  forces  within  me  may  con- 
spire for  detraction.  Truculence  may  say, 
"  Keep  the  popular  side."  Jealousy  may  say, 
"  You  need  not  eulogise  a  rival."  Sophistry 
may  say,  "It  is  all  true  about  the  blame ; 
there  is  no  lie — only  the  suppression  of  some- 
thing." And  a  deceitful  heart  may  say,  "You 
have  no  part  in  it — you  are  only  wearing  a 
veil,  only  keeping  silence."  Save  me  from 
these  seductions,  O  my  God  !  Help  me  to  say 
of  my  brother,  my  erring  brother,  my  censured 
brother :  "I  have  seen  his  star.  Night  is  there, 
cold  is  there,  ground  for  solemn  thought  is 
there ;  but  I  have  seen  his  star.  You  can 
point  to  real  shadows,  you  can  tell  of  true 
blemishes  ;  but  I  have  seen  his  star.  It  is  a 
scene   that  makes   sad,  it   is  a  wilderness  that 


CHRISTIAN  WITNESS-BEARING        281 

makes  weary  ;  but  I  have  seen  his  star  "  !  Help 
me  to  "  bear  witness  "  to  his  star !  Let  me  tell 
of  the  light  that  is  looming  ;  let  me  speak  of 
the  red  that  is  rising ;  let  me  point  to  the 
dawn  that  is  deepening  !  When  men  see  only 
his  mist,  let  me  sing  of  his  morning !  Send 
me  with  a  leaf  from  his  flood ;  send  me  with 
a  dove  from  his  waters  !  Give  me  the  charity 
to  champion,  the  bravery  to  befriend,  the  pity 
to  protect,  the  sincerity  to  shield,  the  tender- 
ness to  be  true,  the  lovingness  to  be  loyal, 
the  courage  to  be  candid,  the  magnanimity  to 
be  merciful,  the  rectitude  to  reveal  a  brother's 
rainbow !  Then  shall  I  know  assuredly  that  I 
am  a  witness  sent  from  Thee. 


Lxxxin 

THE   SPHERE  OF  DIVINE  PROVIDENCE 

'•  The    Lord    brought    an   east  wind ;    and,   when    it    was 
morning,  the  east  wind  brought  the  locusts." — Exod.  x.  13. 

ONE  is  inclined  to  ask,  Why  bring  the  east 
wind  at  all?  God  was  about  to  send  a 
special  providence  for  the  deliverance  of  His 
people  from  Egypt.  He  was  about  to  inflict 
the  Egyptians  with  a  plague  of  locusts.  The 
locusts  were  to  be  His  special  providence,  the 
evidence  of  His  supreme  power.  Why,  then, 
does  He  not  bring  the  locusts  at  once !  Why 
evoke  the  intervention  of  an  east  wind  !  Would 
it  not  sound  more  majestic  if  it  had  simply 
been  written,  "  God  sent  out  a  swarm  of 
locusts  created  for  the  purpose  of  setting  His 
people  free "  !  Instead  of  that,  the  action  of 
God  takes  the  form  of  natural  law,  "  The  Lord 
brought  an  east  wind  ;  and,  when  it  was 
morning,  the  east  wind  brought  the  locusts." 
Why  send  His  message  in  a  common  chariot 
when    it    might    fly    on    heavenly    wings !      Is 

282 


SPHERE   OF  DIVINE   PROVIDENCE    283 

there    not    even     something     disappointing    in 
the    words    "  when    it    was    morning " !      Why 
should   God's   act  have   been  so  long  in  work- 
ing  the   cure !     Is    not    the   whole   passage   an 
encouragement  of  men  to  say,  "  Oh,  it  was  all 
done    by  natural   causes " !     Yes — and    to    add, 
"  All   natural   causes  are   Divine   causes."     For, 
why   is   this   passage    written?     It    is     just    to 
tell    us    that    when    we    see   a   Divine    benefit 
coming   through   an   east    w^ind,  or    any   other 
wind,  we  are  not  to  say  that  on  this  account 
it   comes   less   direct  from   God.     It  is  just  to 
tell    us    that     when     w^e     ask    God's    help    we 
ought    to    expect    that    the     answer    will     be 
sent  through  natural  channels,  through  human 
channels.     It  is  just  to  tell  us   that  when   the 
actual  heavens   are   silent   we   are   not  to   say 
that  there  is  no   voice  from  our  Father.     We 
are  to  seek  the  answer  to  our  prayers,  not  in 
an  opening  of  the  sky,  not  in  an  angel's  wing, 
not  in  a  mystic    trance,   but    in    the   seeming 
accidents  of   every   day — in   the    meeting  with 
a  friend,  in  the   crossing   of    a   street,   in    the 
hearing    of    a    sermon,    in    the    reading    of    a 
book,  in  the  listening  to  a  song,  in  the  vision 
of  a  scene   of   beauty.     We  are  to  live  in  the 
solemn  expectation  that,  any  day  of  our  lives, 
the  things  which  environ  us  may  become  God's 
messengers. 


284      SPHERE   OF   DIVINE   PROVIDENCE 

Send  me  that  solemn  thought,  O  Lord !  Let 
me  look  at  the  objects  around  me  in  the  light 
of  their  possible  mission !  Let  me  remember 
that  the  most  unlikely  things  may  one 
day  become  Thy  messengers  1  Let  me  re- 
member that  Job  was  answered  at  last  out 
of  the  very  "whirlwind  which  seemed  to  pre- 
clude revelation  !  Wlien  I  gaze  on  plant  and 
tree,  may  I  see  them  as  Thine  emissaries ! 
When  I  touch  a  human  hand,  may  I  feel  its 
Divine  mission !  When  I  pay  a  well-timed 
visit,  let  me  say,  "  The  Lord  has  sent  me "  ! 
When  I  arrive  at  a  critical  moment,  forbid 
^hat  I  should  cry,  "  What  a  lucky  chance ! " 
let  me  claim  the  coincidence  for  Thee !  Let 
me  uncover  my  head  to  the  meanest  flower, 
to  the  most  fugitive  hour,  to  the  most  secular 
power!  Let  me  reverence  them  in  advance — 
for  what  they  may  bring  to-morrow  !  May  I 
forget  not  that  even  the  east  wind  became 
Thy  messenger !  Help  me  in  the  prospect  of 
to-morrow  to  bless  life's  east  winds !  Help  me 
to  remember  that  the  rejected  stone  may  be 
the  corner-stone !  Help  me  to  bear  in  mind 
that  the  cross  may  be  the  cro^vn  !  Help  me 
to  realise  that  the  tidings  of  Thy  peace  may 
come  on  the  tempest's  bosom !  Teach  me  that 
this  world  is  not  the  veil,  but  the  unveiling, 
of  Thy  presence !  So  shall  I  feel  the  sacred- 
ness  of  the  common  day. 


LXXXIV 

THE  INFLUENCE  THAT  IS  IMMORTAL 

"  Abel  offered  a  more  excellent  sacrifice  than  Cain,  and  by  it 
he,  being  dead,  yet  speaketh." — Heb.  xi.  4. 

THERE  is  only  one  influence  that  will  speak 
to  all  ages  ;  it  is  sacrifice — the  giving  up 
of  something  in  the  cause  of  right.  That  is 
the  only  thing  known  to  me  which  appeals 
equally  to  every  generation  of  men.  All  other 
experiences  are  changed  by  the  years.  Manners 
change  ;  customs  change ;  apparels  change  ; 
tastes  change ;  ideals  of  beauty  change  ;  the 
fashion  of  each  successive  age  passes  away. 
Cain  was  a  great  man  in  his  time,  Esau  was  a 
great  man  in  his  time,  Saul  was  a  great  man 
in  his  time  ;  but  it  cannot  be  said  of  any  of 
these,  "By  that  greatness  he,  being  dead,  yet 
speaketh."  Nobody  would  now  admire  Cain — 
not  even  the  bad  man.  Nobody  would  now 
admire  Esau — not  even  the  selfish  man.  No- 
body   would   now   admire   Saul — not  even   the 

3B6 


286      INFLUENCE  THAT  IS   IMMORTAL 

vain  man.  Cain  and  Esau  and  Saul  do  not 
"speak"  to  us — do  not  appeal  to  us.  We  do 
not  feel  that  they  are  moderns.  There  is  a 
far-away  sound  about  their  voices  as  if  they 
were  talking  through  a  mist;  and  so  they  are 
— the  mist  of  vanished  years.  But  there  is 
one  region  of  the  past  which  is  always  modern 
and  whose  voices  do  speak  to  us.  There  are 
birds  of  Eden  which  sing  in  modern  London, 
in  modern  Paris,  in  modern  Rome,  and  there 
is  no  fainting  in  their  song.  There  are  flowers 
of  old  Israel  which  -we  meet  in  the  gardens 
of  Europe,  and  there  is  no  fading  in  their 
colours.  What  are  these  birds  of  eternal  song, 
what  are  these  flowers  of  perpetual  bloom  ? 
They  are  the  sacrifices  of  the  heart.  Time 
writes  no  w^rinkle  on  the  deeds  of  sacrifice. 
The  ark  of  the  Israelites  is  worn  and  old ;  the 
shout  of  the  Philistines  is  far  off  and  feeble. 
But  the  love  of  Jonathan  and  David  is  as 
young  as  yesterday  ;  the  devotion  of  Ruth  to 
Naomi  is  as  modern  as  this  morning ;  the 
affection  of  Joseph  for  his  brethren  is  as  fresh 
as  an  autumn  field.  The  sacrificial  spirit 
belongs  to  all  ages.  It  annuls  the  differences 
of  time.  On  that  mount  Moses  and  Elias  can 
speak  to  Peter  and  John,  and  forget  the 
centuries  between.  They  were  aU  sacrificial 
lives,    and    therefore     time    is     for     them     in- 


INFLUENCE   THAT  IS   IMMORTAL       287 

different.  The  yearnings  of  the  heart  make 
us  independent  of  the  years ;  they  speak  not  to 
men  but  to  man. 

But,  my  soul,  is  it  only  by  example  that  the 
dead  can  speak  to  thee !  Have  the  Abels  of 
the  past  no  actual  voice  by  which  they  can 
commune  with  thee  !  I  think  they  have— and  it 
is  a  voice  tuned  by  the  spirit  of  sacrifice.  Is 
it  not  written  of  the  celestial  band,  "They  are 
all  ministering  spirits."  If  a  higher  life  would 
speak  to  thee,  it  must  first  bend  to  thee. 
Wouldst  thou  speak  to  a  child,  then  must 
thou  first  empty  thyself  into  the  child's  ex- 
perience. Thou  must  see  with  his  eyes,  hear 
with  his  ears,  move  with  his  feet,  think  with 
his  mind,  feel  with  his  heart.  If  Elijah  comes 
back  in  his  chariot  he  must  put  on  his  mantle 
again — the  common  dress  of  earthly  days. 
Of  all  things  in  this  world  below,  what  thinkest 
thou  will  be  most  useful  in  the  world  above? 
I  will  tell  thee — it  is  thine  hours  of  sacrifice, 
thy  moments  of  loss.  Nothing  else  will  be  so 
valuable  yonder — not  riches  nor  honour  nor 
glory.  It  is  thy  clouds  that  are  training  thee; 
it  is  thy  burdens  that  are  expanding  thee ;  it 
is  thy  times  of  arrest  that  are  promoting  thee. 
Thou  callest  them  God's  silences ;  they  will  be 
the  organs  of  thy  speech  one  day.  Thy  crosses 
shall   make   thee   a   comforter  ;    thy   hardships 


288       INFLUENCE   THAT   IS   IMMORTAL       , 

shall  make  thee  a  helper ;  thy  clouds  shall 
make  thee  a  cleanser.  By  thy  stripes  thou 
shalt  strengthen  ;  by  thy  pains  thou  shalt  pity ; 
by  thy  falls  thou  shalt  forgive  ;  by  thy  mists 
thou  shalt  minister ;  by  thy  battles  thou  shalt 
bear ;  by  thy  griefs  thou  shalt  guide ;  by  thy 
days  of  sorrow  thou  shalt  have  doors  of  sym- 
pathy. Thou  shalt  speak  by  thy  sacrifices,  O 
my  soul. 


LXXXV 

CHRIST'S    FIRST    NOTE   OF   AUTO- 
BIOGRAPHY 

"  Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit." — Matt.  v.  8. 

THERE  is  a  question  I  have  often  asked 
myself — Why  does  St.  Matthew  bring  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount  so  close  to  the  temptation 
in  the  wilderness  ?  That  is  not  its  natural 
position ;  it  belongs  to  a  much  later  stage  of 
Christ's  ministry,  and  could  not  have  been 
understood  in  the  earliest  period.  Why,  then, 
does  the  First  Gospel  place  it  in  the  immediately 
succeeding  chai3ter  to  the  temptation?  I  take 
the  reason  to  be  that  the  first  note  of  this 
sermon  is  a  reminiscence  of  our  Lord's  ex- 
perience in  the  wilderness — in  other  words,  it 
is  a  note  of  autobiography.  What  was  the 
temptation  in  the  wilderness  ?  I  would  sum 
it  up  in  four  words — "  Be  conscious  of  yourself." 
The  tempter  said,  "  If  you  are  the  Son  of  God, 

20  289 


290         NOTE   OF  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

realise  that  you  are  such.  Let  the  thought  be 
ever  present  to  your  mind.  Let  your  every 
action  be  prompted  by  the  motive  of  showing 
that  you  are  Divine.  Assert  yourself  in  the 
world.  Command  that  the  stones  be  made 
bread.  Claim  the  Father's  care  in  a  gigantic 
leap  from  the  pinnacle  of  the  temple.  Aspire 
to  the  conquest  of  the  kingdoms  of  the  world 
and  the  glory  of  them."  The  one  thought  in 
all  the  temptations  is  the  grandeur  of  self- 
consciousness.  And  this  is  the  thought  which 
in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  Christ  begins  by 
repudiating.  It  shows  what  an  adverse  impres- 
sion it  had  made  upon  His  mind.  He  starts 
this  great  sermon  by  a  note  of  memory — a 
memory  of  His  own  pain.  He  remembers  how 
bitterly  he  felt  this  perversion  of  the  truth. 
He  is  determined  it  shall  be  the  first  delusion  He 
will  publicly  expose,  the  first  error  of  which  He 
will  warn  the  multitude.  Accordingly,  He 
stands  in  the  midst  of  them  and,  with  an  air  of 
almost  dramatic  abruptness,  cries,  "  Blessed  are 
the  poor  in  spirit,  for  theirs  is  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  ! "  Read  that  in  the  light  of  the  wilder- 
ness, and  it  means  this — "The  highest  power, 
even  heavenly  power,  comes  in  moments  of 
unconsciousness."  To  be  poor  in  spirit  is  to  be 
unconscious  of  yourself.  It  is  not  "to  be 
humble,"  "to  be  despondent,"  "  to  be  miserable  " 


NOTE   OF  AUTOBIOGRAPHY         291 

■ — these  are  all  forms  of  consciousness.  It  is  to 
forget  that  you  have  an  eye  or  ear,  a  hand  or 
foot,  a  heart  or  brain.  It  is  to  fly  without 
hearing  the  movement  of  your  own  wings.  It 
is  to  ignore  the  flower  you  wear,  to  forget  the 
charm  you  bear,  to  discount  the  deed  you  dare — 
to  see  not  when  you  shine,  to  feel  not  it  is  fine, 
to  say  not,  "  Wealth  is  mine."  That  is  the  spirit 
whose  poverty  is  power. 

Lord,  only  in  Thine  unconsciousness  shall  I 
reach  Thy  Mount;  let  me  resist  the  tempter 
with  Thee  !  My  wilderness  is  my  consciousness. 
I  say,  "  If  I  leap  from  the  pinnacle,  I  shall  prove 
my  trust  in  God  " — and  very  likely  my  courage 
will  fail.  But  if  a  friend  fall  from  the  pinnacle, 
I  make  an  unconscious  leap — the  leap  of 
self-forgetfulness.  The  world  marvels  at  my 
courage.  It  is  the  want  of  courage.  Love's  fear 
has  paralysed  me,  made  me  oblivious  of  myself. 
Give  me,  O  Christ,  that  fear  which  makes 
oblivious  ! — it  Avas  Thine.  It  is  not  courage  that 
makes  unconscious  of  peril ;  it  is  the  fear  that 
is  born  of  love.  Why  hast  Thou  trod  the 
hospital  of  human  ills  ?  Was  it  recklessness  of 
Thy  life  ?  No  ;  it  was  dread  for  mine.  Men  say 
Thou  wert  steeled  by  heavenly  armour ;  nay, 
Thou  wert  steeled  by  love's  terror.  It  was  my 
cry  made  possible  Thy  Calvary ;  it  was  my 
danger  made  bearable  Thy  desert ;     it  was  my 


292  NOTE   OF   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

groan  made  endurable  Thy  Gethsemane.  It 
was  my  crisis  made  Thy  courage,  O  Christ. 
Men  exhort  me  to  have  the  fear  of  the  Lord. 
They  are  right.  Thy  fear  is  love's  fear — the 
only  fear  which  deadens  personal  pain.  It 
makes  heroes  of  the  helpless,  warriors  of  the 
weak,  soldiers  of  the  sick,  lions  of  the  listless, 
Daniels  of  the  drooping,  fortresses  of  the  feeble, 
champions  of  little  children,  youth's  morning 
light  of  the  fulness  of  years.  Lord  of  the 
beatitudes,  grant  me  this  boon ! 


LXXXVI 

THE   SECRET  OF  STOOPING 

"  That  thou  shouldest  receive  him  for  ever,  not  now  as  a 
servant,  but  above  a  servant." — Philem.  15,  16. 

nr)AUL  had  sent  back  to  his  master  a  run- 
-^  away  slave.  The  slave  had  fled  to  Paul 
under  the  belief  that  the  faith  which  he 
professed  would  require  the  immediate  abolition 
of  bondage.  Paul  knew  that  society  was  not 
ripe  for  this.  What  he  wanted  in  the  meantime 
was  individual  purity,  not  social  revolution. 
Accordingly,  he  converted  the  man  and  bade 
him  return  bearing  a  letter  to  his  master.  In 
that  letter  Paul  tells  the  master  not  to  be  angry 
at  his  temporary  loss.  He  tells  him  that  by  this 
temporary  loss  he  has  got  a  better  servant  than 
he  ever  had  before — one  who  by  his  runaway 
escapade  has  gained  an  experience  which  will 
make  him  a  more  valuable  helper  than  in  all  the 
days  of  the  past,  "  more  than  a  servant."  The 
thought   opened   up   by   these  words  is  a  very 


294         THE  SECRET  OF  STOOPING 

striking  one.  It  was  a  common  view  in  Paul's 
day  and  is  hardly  less  common  in  our  own,  that 
elevation  of  mind  is  unfavourable  to  service — 
that  a  man  or  woman  works  best  in  proportion 
to  the  want  of  intelligence.  The  spread  of 
education  has  often  been  deprecated  on  this 
ground.  Paul  felt  this  to  be  a  delusion.  He 
felt  that  the  higher  the  man  the  lower  would 
he  stoop  in  service.  And  he  felt  truly.  That 
which  makes  a  man  or  woman  demur  to  menial 
work  is  not  a  sense  of  dignity  but  the  want 
of  it.  I  have  seen  a  youth  object  to  carry  a 
parcel.  "  A  very  x^roud  young  man  "  was  the 
common  verdict.  Mine  was  "  A  very  humble 
young  man."  He  must  have  felt  that  it  would 
take  very  little  to  lower  him.  A  Christian  is 
extremely  humble  just  because  he  has  an 
extremely  strong  sense  of  personal  dignity.  He 
has  learned  that  his  personal  dignity  consists  in 
stooping — that  the  thing  w^hich  makes  him  a 
man  is  the  power  of  sacrifice.  The  ability  to 
stoop  is  the  only  thing  he  is  proud  of ;  it  is  the 
mind  that  was  in  Christ  Jesus,  and  therefore  the 
mind  of  royalty.  Paul  says  that  the  Christian 
hope  "maketh  not  ashamed."  He  does  not 
mean  that  it  makes  one  feel  small,  but  that  it 
makes  one  feel  big.  When  a  man  gets  this  hope 
he  ceases  to  believe  that  any  trivial  thing  can 
take  him   down,  that  any  hands  soiled  in  the 


THE  SECRET  OF   STOOPING        295 

service  of  humanity  could  for  a  moment  rob  him 
of  his  lineage  from  the  house  of  God. 

My  brother,  art  thou  in  need  of  a  service 
vrhich  involves  stooping.  Do  not  think  it  is 
most  likely  to  be  given  by  an  inferior  nature  ! 
It  is  not  the  small  mind  that  best  does  the 
humble  work.  Wouldst  thou  have  one  to  speak 
in  parables  to  those  who  are  simple.  Do  not 
choose  him  from  their  own  level ;  bring  him 
from  the  height !  The  teacher  of  beginners 
must  not  be  a  beginner  himself ;  the  master 
alone  can  break  the  bread.  Not  by  companion- 
ship with  other  children  does  thy  child  grow. 
It  grows  by  the  talk  of  those  above  it.  Select 
its  governess  from  the  most  accomplished,  its 
schoolmaster  from  the  most  learned !  Think 
not  that  an  illiterate  sick-nurse  is  the  most 
helpful  with  her  hands  !  The  hands  follow  the 
sympathies,  and  the  sympathies  depend  on  the 
power  of  imagination.  The  true  sick-nurse  must 
be  a  poet ;  she  must  figure  the  scenes  she 
stoops  to.  Hast  thou  not  read  that  the  Son  of 
Man  was  "  crowned  with  glory  and  honour  that 
He  should  taste  death  for  every  man."  He 
stooped  by  reason  of  His  previous  gloiy ;  He 
bent  because  He  was  beautiful.  It  will  be  ever 
so.  Wouldst  thou  be  served,  seek  not  the  slave 
but  the  seraph !  Ask  thy  help  from  the  hills  ! 
Bring  thy  needs  to  the  noble !     Tell  thy  wants 


296        THE  SECRET  OF  STOOPING 

to  the  winged  angels  !  Send  for  thy  staff  to 
the  stars  !  Cast  thy  burden  on  the  beatified 
Lean  thy  head  on  the  high !  Commit  thine 
errands  to  the  exalted !  Heaven  will  be  thy 
healer.  The  Son  of  Man  will  be  thy  minister. 
The  crowned  heads  will  bear  thy  cross.  Thy 
troubles  may  come  from  the  ground ;  but  it  is 
the  men  of  the  sky  that  will  lift  them.  Seek 
thine  aid  from  the  heights,  O  my  soul ! 


LXXXVII 

MAN'S    PREMONITION  OF   CHRISTMAS 
BELLS 

"  "We  have  seen  His  star." — Matt.  ii.  2. 

THE  star  was  a  thing  for  which  Nature  had 
no  use.  It  served  no  physical  purpose.  It 
was  superfluous  so  far  as  secular  need  is  con- 
cerned ;  there  was  no  place  for  it  in  the  merely 
natural  sky.  That  is  the  reason  the  wise  men 
believed  it  to  be  supernatural.  Its  light  gave 
no  help  to  the  present  world ;  they  said,  "  It 
must  have  a  function  in  some  other  world." 
And  this  is  precisely  how  we  reason  in  our 
moments  of  premonition.  We  see  something 
very  beautiful  for  which  we  can  find  no  earthly 
purpose  ;  and  we  say,  "  It  must  have  a  purpose 
elsewhere  ;  we  have  seen  the  light  of  an  un- 
dawned  day."  What,  for  example,  is  the 
mundane  use  of  poetry !  Does  it  help  the 
development  of  the  world !  To  the  business 
man  it  is  rather  a  hindrance  ;  it  tends  to  make 


298    PREMONITION  OF  CHRISTMAS  BELLS 

him  unpractical.  To  the  schoolboy  it  is  a 
retardation ;  it  makes  him  dream  when  he 
should  be  studying ;  you  cannot  see  the  beauties 
of  "  Paradise  Lost "  at  the  same  time  that  you 
are  parsing  it.  To  the  dispenser  of  charity  it  is 
a  barrier — real  sorrow  seems  so  prosaic  com- 
pared ■with  ideal  sorrow.  Whence  then  has  it 
come — seeing  that  earthly  need  has  not  created 
it !  It  is  one  of  the  grapes  of  Eschol.  It  is  not 
an  evolution ;  it  is  a  premonition.  For  any 
time-purpose  it  might  be  called  a  useless  organ  ; 
but  its  use  is  coming.  It  tells  us  that  w^e  are 
preparing  for  something  ideal — for  a  Christ  who 
is  "  fairer  than  the  children  of  men,"  for  an 
"  Altogether  Lovely,"  for  a  presence  "  without 
blemish  and  without  spot  "  ;  in  poetry  "  w^e  have 
seen  His  star."  Or,  what  is  the  temporal  use  of 
remorse  for  an  irremediable  past !  Measured  by 
the  time  standard,  it  is  a  weakening  of  energy. 
Great  crimes  are  punished  by  law,  great  vices 
are  put  down  by  society ;  these  are  really  effec- 
tive pieces  of  mechanism.  But  what  purpose  is 
to  be  served  by  the  gnaw^ing  at  my  heart  of  a 
poignant  pain  for  a  past  which  has  vanished ! 
There  is  none  now ;  but  it  is  coming.  This 
gnawing  pain  is  useless  here,  but  it  will  be  satis- 
fied by  and  by — w^hen  my  evil  shall  work  out 
good,  w^hen  my  dark  deeds  shall  open  God's  door, 
when  the  sin  that  made  Christ's  Calvary  shall 


PREMONITION  OF  CHRISTMAS  BELLS    299 

lead  up  to  Olivet.  The  cry  for  a  reversed  past 
is  useless  now  ;  but  it  will  be  answered  in  the 
day  when  "  the  wrath  of  man  shall  praise " 
Him ;  of  that  day  we  have  seen  the  star. 

I  thank  thee,  O  Lord,  that  there  are  things  in 
this  world  which  this  world  does  not  need.  I 
thank  Thee  that  there  are  things  called  un- 
practical— unusable.  It  is  from  these  I  get  my 
hope ;  they  are  my  "  star."  Other  things  give 
me  earthly  riches — the  gold  and  the  frankincense 
and  the  myrrh  ;  but  the  star  gives  me  my  Christ. 
My  finest  treasures  are  in  this  world  bound  in 
a  napkin.  My  dreams  disqualify  me,  my  star- 
gazing strands  me.  I  seem  to  be  only  on  the 
road  to  a  manger — a  place  where  inferior 
intelligences  dwell.  So  I  am,  if  this  world  were 
all.  Why  hast  Thou  suffered  the  boy  to  see 
castles  in  the  fire  when  he  ought  to  be  studying 
his  map  !  Why  hast  Thou  permitted  the  youth 
to  see  stars  above  his  ledger  when  he  ought  to 
be  studying  his  figures  !  Why  hast  Thou  allowed 
the  maiden  to  dream  of  romantic  beauties  which 
domestic  life  will  never  yield  !  Why  hast  Thou 
caused  Matthew  to  forget  the  count  of  his  tax- 
gathering  in  a  vision  of  loveliness  !  Why  hast 
Thou  made  Peter  drop  his  fishing-rod  for  a  call 
that  could  bring  no  bread  !  Why  hast  Thou 
sent  Nicodemus  a  night  dream  that  makes  him 
less  successful  with  the  world  by  day !     Oh  !  it 


300    PREMONITION  OF  CHRISTMAS  BELLS 

is  all  the  star — the  star  of  Bethlehem  !  It  is 
because  in  the  great  world  to  which  I  go  these 
powers  disused  of  earth  will  be  all  the  vogue. 
It  is  to  ripen  me  for  Thy  riches,  to  train  me  for 
Thy  treasures,  to  fit  me  for  Thy  fulness,  to 
leaven  me  for  Thy  light.  I  thank  Thee,  O  Lord, 
that,  amidst  the  many  constellations  whose  path 
I  can  trace,  there  is  revealed  to  me  at  moments 
one  orbitless  star. 


Lxxxvm 

THE   QUALIFICATION    FOR   MINISTERING 

"  Looking  up  to  heaven,    He  sighed,   and  saith  unto   hina 
Ephphatha,  that  is,  Be  opened." — Mark  vii.  34. 

SUCH  was  the  state  of  mind  in  which  Jesus 
approached  an  afflicted  human  soul.  It  is 
the  typical  state  of  all  true  philanthropists.  It 
is  a  double  consciousness — a  blending  of  pain 
and  hope.  I  read  that  before  beginning  the 
cure  Jesus  "  sighed " ;  that  was  an  experience 
of  pain.  But  I  am  told  that  the  sigh  was 
simultaneous  with  an  upward  glance,  "  looking 
up  to  heaven  "  ;  that  was  an  experience  of  hope. 
Can  pain  and  hope  exist  side  by  side  ?  Yes,  if 
they  form  part  of  one  building.  And  they  do  so 
here.  They  are  the  two  pillars  of  compassion. 
No  act  of  charity  can  be  successful  without  each 
of  them — pain  and  hope — the  sigh  and  the 
upward  gaze.  There  can  be  no  charity  without 
the  sigh.  The  sigh  is  the  breath  of  sympathy. 
You  cannot  heal  a  man  by  merely  being  sorry 

801 


302    QUALIFICATION   FOR  MINISTERING 

for  him ;  you  must  be  sorry  with  him.  Sym- 
pathy is  not  sorrow  for,  but  sorrow  with.  What 
does  Paul  mean  when  he  says,  "  I  am  crucified 
together  with  Christ "  ?  He  means  that  the 
cross  of  Christ  has  become  his  own  cross. 
Sympathy  in  its  deepest  sense  is  an  obKteration 
of  separate  personalities  ;  it  makes  me  live  in 
your  experience  ;  I  do  not  so  much  heave  a  sigh 
for  you  as  heave  your  sigh.  Until  I  can  do  that, 
I  can  be  no  missionary  to  you ;  I  must  appro- 
priate your  pain  if  I  would  relieve  you.  But 
there  is  something  more  which  is  wanted  for 
charity  than  the  sigh.  I  cannot  help  you  by 
merely  feeling  your  pain.  Pity  is  a  great  power, 
but  it  is  not  the  greatest  power.  The  greatest 
power  is  hope.  There  must  be  the  upward 
glance  as  well  as  the  downward  bending.  Jesus 
is  sighing  over  a  deaf  man  ;  but  w^hat  makes 
Him  sigh  ?  It  is  because  the  man  ought  not  to 
be  deaf.  It  is  because  deafness  is  not  the  normal 
state  of  any  man.  This  sufferer  was  meant  to 
hear  music,  to  listen  to  human  voices,  to  express 
the  tones  which  the  heart  loves  so  well.  Jesus 
felt  he  was  worthy  of  better  things  ;  therefore 
He  looked  up  when  He  healed  him.  He  would 
not  have  looked  up  if  He  had  been  bending  over 
a  stone.  A  stone  is  also  deaf,  but  it  is  normally 
deaf ;  it  was  never  made  to  catch  the  sounds  of 
music,  and  therefore  its  state  awakes  no  sigh. 


QUALIFICATION  FOR  MINISTERING    303 

But  the  man  was  in  rvant  of  something — some- 
thing which  he  ought  to  have.  He  had  been 
denuded  of  his  birthright.  He  was  knocking  at 
a  barred  gate  of  his  own  being.  He  was  beating 
at  a  closed  door  of  the  nature  which  God  had 
given  him.  Is  it  wonderful  that  Christ  should 
have  cried,  "  Be  thou  opened  !  " — is  it  wonderful 
He  should  have  looked  up  with  the  expectancy 
of  hope  ! 

Lord,  I  need  the  sight  as  well  as  the  sigh.  If 
I  am  to  serve  my  afflicted  brother  I  must  have, 
not  only  the  night,  but  the  star.  It  is  not 
enough  that  I  feel  my  brother  to  be  a  clod  of 
the  valley,  irresponsive  to  the  sights  and  sounds 
of  spiritual  beauty  ;  that  will  not  cause  me  to 
help  him.  The  clod  of  the  valley  has  no  claim 
to  be  responsive  ;  it  is  its  nature  to  be  dead.  I 
must  be  made  to  feel  that  my  brother  has  a  life 
below  the  clod,  a  life  which  the  clod  is  pressing 
down,  a  life  which  struggles  to  be  free.  That, 
O  my  Father,  must  be  the  ground  of  my  com- 
passion, of  my  humanity  to  man.  Not  by  the 
sense  of  my  brother's  sin  shall  I  say,  "  Let  there 
be  light ! "  Show  me  the  budding  of  a  flower, 
yea,  the  place  where  a  flower  should  have  been  ! 
Let  me  see  that  this  is  not  his  rest,  not  his  goal ! 
Send  me  the  voice  of  his  unuttered  speech,  the 
prayer  of  his  unconscious  heart !  Send  me  a 
sight  of  the  wastes  which  his  world  cannot  flU ; 


304     QUALIFICATION   FOR  MINISTERING 

send  me  a  sense  of  the  hunger  which  his  swine - 
iiusks  cannot  satisfy  !  Send  me  a  touch  of  the 
thirst  which  his  pleasures  cannot  appease  !  Send 
me  a  hint  of  the  home-sickness  which  makes 
him  fast  mid  sumptuous  fare !  Send  me  a 
message  of  the  memories  which  mock  his  pre- 
sent hour !  Show  me  the  song  that  sings  in  his 
silence,  the  robe  revealed  in  his  rags,  the  majesty- 
moving  in  his  mean  attire  !  When  I  am  able  to 
look  up  amid  the  sigh  I  shall  heal  the  drooping 
heart* 


LXXXIX 

THE   ABUSE   OF  NOBLE   THINGS 


"  If  the  light  that  is  in  thee  be  da«rkness,  how  great  is  that 
darkness  1  " — Matt.  vi.  23. 


I  THINK  the  darkness  of  which  our  Lord 
speaks  means  the  difficulty  of  seeing  sin. 
I  understand  Him  to  mean  that  it  is  never 
so  difficult  to  see  sin  as  when  it  comes  from 
something  really  good  in  the  man.  There  are 
vices  which  come  from  an  evil  nature  ;  these 
are  at  once  detected  and  condemned.  But 
there  are  vices  which  originate  in  the  very 
goodness  of  the  soul.  Ho^v  many  a  young 
man  is  led  astray  by  his  generous  impulses ! 
He  takes  to  the  winecup,  not  from  any  love 
of  the  wine,  but  from  the  sheer  love  of  fel- 
lowship. He  exceeds  in  his  potations,  not  to 
pamper  himself,  but  to  keep  up  the  good  cheer 
of  others.  He  says  more  than  he  means,  not 
because  he  is  deceitful,  but  because  he  wants 
to  make  people   happy.     He   gives   promises  in 

21  30§ 


306     THE  ABUSE  OF  NOBLE  THINGS 

advance  of  his  ability,  not  from  any  weakness 
of  principle,    but    just   because   the   warm  im- 
pulse  of   the   moment   is   too   strong   for   him. 
The  poet  speaks  of  being  led  astray  by  a  light 
from  heaven.     That  is  what  Christ  means  by 
the   light  within   a  man  being   darkness.      He 
means    that    a    colder    nature    would    commit 
fewer   lapses   in   righteousness.      But    He    says 
also   that,  just  because    the    young   man's    sin 
comes  from  something   noble   in   his  nature,  it 
is  specially  difficult  for   his  friends,  or  even  for 
himself,  to  detect  it.     The  light  from  which  it 
proceeds    obscures     it,     hides     it,    darkens     it. 
Nothing,    says   Jesus,  veils   sin  from   our   sight 
like  its  origination   in   brilliant  qualities.     The 
man's  comrades  actually  imitate  his  faults.     If 
they   saw    in    the    street    a    degraded   drunken 
creature,   worn   in    limb    and   tattered   in   gar- 
ment, they  would  say,  "What  a  terrible  thing 
is  this  human  iniquity !  "     But  when  they  see  a 
brilliant    youth   heated    into    extra  lustre  and 
made   to   sparkle   with   adventitious  fire,  when 
they  see  his  natural  good-nature  enhanced  and 
his  genial   glow   made   ruddier,   then   misery  is 
cloaked  in  light  and  vice  gets  a  temple  in  the 
soul.      It    is    hard   for    a    man    to    detect    his 
brother's   sin   when   it   is   wreathed   round  one 
of  the  gifts  of  God. 

Lord,    thy   psalmist   has   said,    "Cleanse    me 


THE   ABUSE   OF  NOBLE  THINGS      307 

from  secret  faults  !  " — faults  in  the  dark.  My 
secret  faults  are  the  faults  which  come  fromi  my 
virtues ;  cleanse  me  from  these,  O  Lord  !  Thou 
hast  set  many  lights  in  the  upper  chamber ; 
may  they  never  lead  me  wrong  !  Thou  hast 
given  me  a  power  of  satire  to  lash  what  is 
mean ;  let  me  never  use  it  on  the  sensitive 
heart !  Thou  hast  given  me  a  power  of  man- 
ner to  greet  a  friend ;  let  me  never  thereby 
deceive  the  soul  of  innocence  !  Thou  hast 
given  me  a  love  of  companionship ;  let  it  never 
launch  me  into  perilous  depths  !  Thou  hast 
given  me  a  little  mirror  called  self-respect 
that  I  may  keep  all  stain  from  my  attire  ;  let 
it  never  degenerate  into  pride  of  heart !  I 
would  not  have  sin  enter  by  the  front  door — 
by  the  very  pillars  of  my  house.  I  would  not 
have  my  geyns  tarnished,  whatever  else  be  tar- 
nished. Let  not  my  light  be  the  darkness ! 
Keep  the  stain  from  my  star  !  Let  me  blight 
not  by  my  bloom,  ruffle  not  by  my  rose,  wound 
not  by  my  wealth,  slay  not  by  my  song,  cor- 
rupt not  by  my  courage,  tempt  not  by  my 
tenderness,  beguile  not  by  my  beauty,  debase 
not  by  my  devotion,  lower  not  by  my  love  ! 
The  lights  which  come  from  Thee  should  be 
lights  to  Paradise  ;  let  them  not  lead  me  into 
temptation,  O  Lord ! 


xo 


THE  PRINCIPLE   OF  CHRIST'S  PHILAN- 
THROPHY 

•'  I  have  no  man  to  put  me  into  the  pool ;  but  while  I  am 
coming,  another  steppeth  down  before  me." — John  v.  7. 

THESE  words  were  spoken  by  the  impotent 
man  at  the  pool  of  Bethesda.  The  meet- 
ing of  Christ  and  that  impotent  man  was  the 
meeting  of  the  old  world  and  the  new.  Two 
opposite  systems  of  evolution  stood  side  by 
side— the  one  which  was  setting  and  the  one 
which  was  rising.  The  one  was  the  crushing 
of  the  impotent ;  the  other  was  the  selection 
of  the  impotent.  The  one  was  the  survival  of 
the  strong ;  the  other  was  the  preservation 
of  the  weak.  The  one  would  support  only 
those  who  gave  room  for  hope ;  the  other 
sought  out  those  whom  the  world  had  re- 
signed in  despair.  This  lame  man  was  a 
victim  to  the  old  system.  He  was  overlooked 
by   pity    because    his     malady    was    desperate. 

308 


CHRIST'S  PHILANTHROPY  309 

Stronger  men  got  in  before  him.  If  he  had 
possessed  more  power  of  motion,  he  would 
have  been  sooner  healed  ;  but  men  who  were 
less  ill  received  a  privilege  just  because  they 
were  less  ill.  This  was  in  real  accord  with 
the  spirit  of  the  ancient  rigime.  Rome  and 
Jerusalem  alike  put  their  most  impotent  men 
last  in  the  roll  for  charity.  Rome  held  them 
to  be  the  enemies  of  the  State,  Jerusalem  the 
enemies  of  God.  This  man  was  cured  by 
change  of  air — change  of  civilisation.  Nothing 
else  could  have  cured  him.  As  long  as  he 
remained  in  the  old  atmosphere  he  would 
have  remained  outside  the  healing  pool.  But 
he  had  come  into  a  new  atmosphere — the 
atmosphere  of  Jesus.  The  change  was  a 
change  of  ideal.  The  motto  of  the  ancient 
regime  had  been,  "  Rescue  the  promising " ;  the 
motto  of  the  new  age  was  to  be,  "  Rescue  the 
perishing."  A  man  used  to  say  to  his  God, 
"Pardon  mine  iniquity  because  it  is  trivial"; 
he  was  now  with  the  prophetic  psalmist  to 
cry,  "  Pardon  mine  iniquity  because  it  is  great." 
He  used  to  say,  "  Pity  me,  for  I  have  not  been 
wholly  to  blame "  ;  he  was  now  to  cry,  "  Save 
me  for  Thy  mercy's  sake."  He  used  to  say, 
"  Choose  me,  for  I  am  strong " ;  he  was  now 
to  cry,  "  Accept  me,  for  I  am  weak."  And  his 
cry  to  man   has    changed   like   his   cry  to  God. 


310  CHRIST'S  PHILANTHROPY 

When  he  prays  his  brother  to  help  him  into 
the  pool,  he  does  so  on  the  ground  of  his 
impotence.  Christ's  charity  begins  with  the 
lowest  room.  It  goes  first  to  Galilee — to 
the  region  of  the  shadow  of  death.  It  bathes 
with  the  water  of  life  him  who  is  too  feeble 
to  reach  the  earthly  pool.  It  brings  its  earliest 
treasures  from  the  tomb,  its  diamond  trophies 
from  the  dust,  its  golden  jewels  from  the 
ground ;  it  seeks  first  the  impotent  man. 

Lord,  Thou  hast  created  a  new  attraction  in 
my  soul — the  attraction  to  deformity.  I  had 
always  the  attraction  toward  beauty.  I  ad- 
mired Nature's  vastness  in  India  and  her 
manifoldness  in  Greece.  I  admired  Hellenic 
loveliness  and  Roman  strength  and  Babylon- 
ian riches.  I  even  admired  -weakness  where  it 
was  coupled  with  successful  effort — as  where 
little  Israel  stood  against  the  nations  of  the 
world  and  left  an  impress  on  history  stronger 
than  they.  But  I  shrank  from  the  sight  of 
that  which  was  hopelessly  unsymmetrical.  I 
would  have  had  it  buried  out  of  my  sight, 
sunk  fathoms  down  in  the  depths  of  the  sea. 
I  put  the  lepers  outside  the  gate,  the  de- 
moniacs amid  the  tombs.  I  exterminated  the 
defective  in  form ;  I  annihilated  the  feeble  in 
frame.  I  left  homeless  children  on  the  high- 
way;  I  exposed   blighted   infants  to  the  blast. 


CHRIST'S   PHILANTHROPY  311 

I  had  no  mansion  in  my  house  for  the  maimed, 
no  place  in  my  field  for  the  paralytic,  no  room 
in  my  world  for  the  ruined.  But  Thou  camest, 
and  the  scene  was  transformed.  Thou  camest, 
and  the  hopeless  were  proclaimed  the  quali- 
fied. Thou  camest,  and  the  watchword  was 
"  the  rising  of  the  dead."  Thou  camest,  and 
the  weakest  were  the  most  eligible,  the  hum- 
blest the  most  acceptable,  the  lowest  the  most 
likely.  Thou  camest,  and  it  was  the  blind 
who  caught  the  beam,  the  lame  who  began 
to  leap,  the  weary  who  furthest  walked,  the 
sick  who  heard  the  song,  the  laden  who  felt  the 
lightness,  the  broken  who  stood  the  breeze,  the 
rejected  of  earth  who  found  the  radiance  of 
heaven.  Those  excluded  from  Bethesda  were 
they  whom  Thou  first  beatified  ;  let  me  stand 
in  the  new  air  with  Thee  1 


XOI 

THE  COMFORT  OF  RELIGIOUS 
DEPRESSION 

••  Why  art  thou  cast  down,  0  my  soul  ?  " — PsA.  xUi.  5. 

THE  Psalmists  question  is  one  of  real  sur- 
prise. He  is  unable  to  account  for  his 
own  experience.  If  it  had  been  a  case  of  primal 
awakening  to  the  sense  of  sin,  he  would  not  have 
w^ondered  at  his  despondency.  But  the  mystery 
lay  in  the  fact  that  his  depression  was  not 
merely  a  downcastness  but  a  casting  down.  He 
had  been  already  up — summering  in  the  heights 
of  glory.  He  had  entered  into  the  joy  of  the 
Lord.  He  had  gone  up  to  God's  house  with  the 
voice  of  gladness ;  the  hour  of  Divine  worship 
had  been  to  him  the  experience  of  a  holiday. 
And  all  at  once  the  collapse  had  come.  Without 
seeming  reason,  with  no  fault  of  his  own,  there 
had   f ollow^ed  a  fall — a  fall  in  spirits,  a  fall  of 

energy.     He  had  not  been  shaken  in  his  belief ; 

3ia 


RELIGIOUS   DEPRESSION  313 

his  sight  of  the  Promised  Land  was  not  less  clear ; 
he  had  the  full  confidence  that  all  things  would 
yet  be  right.  Nevertheless,  spite  of  his  faith, 
spite  of  his  earnestness,  spite  of  his  freedom 
from  blame,  there  had  come  to  him  a  pause  in 
the  glory,  an  unaccountable  Divine  silence  ;  and 
in  astonishment  he  asked,  Why?  We  ask  the 
question  with  him,  for  we  have  felt  the  same. 
Why  should  my  spirit  be  allowed  to  subside 
from  its  own  soaring  ?  Why  should  a  cloud  be 
suffered  to  rest  on  that  hill-top  which  yester 
morn  was  gleaming  in  the  sun  ?  It  is  because 
there  are  higher  hills  to  climb  and  wider  fields  to 
survey.  God  sends  a  cloud,  not  to  arrest,  but  to 
stimulate,  my  progress.  He  would  not  have  me 
remain  in  any  single  room  of  His  ample  house ; 
He  would  lead  me  through  all  its  many  man- 
sions. As  I  enter  each  room  I  am  dazzled ;  I 
say,  "I  shall  make  this  my  tabernacle,  I  shall 
travel  no  more."  Then  He  darkens  the  windows 
and  dims  the  glory.  He  does  not  want  me  to 
linger  there — in  a  mere  fragment  of  the  building. 
He  wants  me  to  see  the  whole  house,  because  I 
am  the  heir  and  ought  to  know  my  property. 
He  first  enchants  me  and  then  He  disenchants 
me.  Is  not  His  disenchantment  also  good  !  Is 
it  not  well  to  eclipse  imperfect  glories  I  If  I  am 
permanently  enamoured  of  the  ladder's  first  step, 
I  shall  never  go  further  up.     Is  it  not  well  that  I 


314  RELIGIOUS  DEPRESSION 

should  cease  to  be  enamoured — that  reaction 
should  come,  that  weariness  should  come,  that 
spiritual  hunger  and  thirst  should  come !  How 
otherwise  shall  I  see  all  the  parts  of  my  Father's 
house  ! 

Lord,  I  have  been  in  a  great  error  about  my 
despondent  moments.  I  have  thought  them  the 
index  of  a  fall ;  and,  all  the  time,  they  have  been 
the  prognostics  of  a  rise.  I  thought  my  sin  was 
again  gaining  dominion  over  me ;  and,  all  the 
time,  my  shadow  came  from  Thee.  Often  in  the 
hour  of  prosperity  I  have  said,  "  I  am  basking  in 
Thy  favour " ;  often  in  the  downcastness  of  my 
spirit  I  have  cried,  "  It  is  the  experience  of  Thy 
frown."  Yet  the  downcastness  may  be  a  greater 
proof  of  Thy  favour  than  the  sunshine.  When 
Thou  hast  furnished  a  higher  room  for  me  Thou 
sendest  a  shadow  over  the  lower  ;  Thou  dimmest 
my  former  joy.  I  can  see  no  material  cause  for 
the  dimness.  The  room  has  been  as  carefully 
swept.  The  furniture  has  not  lost  its  varnish. 
There  is  no  change  in  the  outer  environment — 
the  street  is  as  quiet,  the  sun  as  bright,  as 
yesterday.  But  the  old  joy  is  not  there;  in 
surprise  I  cry,  "  Why  art  thou  cast  down,  O  my 
soul ! "  Let  my  comfort  be  that  Thou  art  the 
cause,  O  Lord  !  If  it  comes  not  from  moth  and 
rust,  if  it  comes  not  from  street  and  lane,  I  know 
it  must  come  from  Thee.     Let  me  take  it  as  a 


RELIGIOUS  DEPRESSION  315 

gift — Thy  gift !  Let  me  receive  it  as  a  call — Thy 
call !  Let  me  hail  it  as  a  voice  of  promotion 
summoning  me  up  the  golden  stair !  Let  me 
welcome  it  as  Thy  message,  "  Come  up  higher  "  ! 
Let  me  translate  it  from  the  language  of  earth 
into  this  language  of  heaven — "  Arise  and  depart, 
for  this  is  not  your  rest;  there  remaineth  for 
you  a  more  comimodious  room  "I 


XCII 
THE   ROOT    OF   CHRISTIAN  ABNEGATION 

"  He  said  unto  them,  Can  ye  make  the  children  of  the 
bridechamber  fast,  while  the  bridegroom  is  with  them  ?  " — 
LuKB  V.  34. 

IT  is  a  curious  question  how  the  idea  of  fasting 
came  to  be  associated  with  religion.  I  take 
the  reason  to  be  that  every  religion  involves 
sacrifice.  But  where  the  error  lies  is  in  the 
belief  that  the  root  of  sacrifice  is  pain.  The 
root  of  sacrifice  is  joy.  Examine  the  sacri- 
fices that  men  make  in  this  world.  You 
will  find  that  those  who  make  them  are 
enduring  the  cross  and  despising  the  shame  for 
a  joy  that  is  set  before  them.  Ask  the  artist  if 
he  considers  himself  to  be  fasting  when  he  scorns 
delights  and  lives  laborious  days.  He  will  tell 
you,  "  No,  I  abstain  by  reason  of  my  satisfiedness  ; 
my  mind  is  filled  with  a  picture,  and  I  have  no 
appetite  for  a  repast."  Ask  the  merchant  why 
he  spends  so  many  hours  without  food.     He  will 

316 


ROOT   OF   CHRISTIAN   ABNEGATION     317 

teU  you  it  is  precisely  because  he  does  not  feel 
the   fast — because   another  fulness   makes   him 
unconscious  of  it.     Ask  a  pair  of  lovers  why  they 
sit  out  in  the  wet  without  even   an   umbrella, 
endangering  thereby  the   health   of   their   own 
bodies.     They  will  tell  you  that  they  never  knew 
it  was  raining  at  all,  that  the  discomfort  of  the 
body  w^as  blunted  by  the  comfort  of  the  soul. 
And  this  explains  the  seeming  contradiction  in 
Christianity.     On  the  one  hand  Christ  tells  us  to 
take  up  His  cross  ;  on  the  other  He  bids  us  enter 
into  His   joy.     How   reconcile    these    precepts? 
Very  easily.     No  man  can  successfully  take  up 
a  cross  until  he  has  entered  into  a  joy.     I  bear 
my  cross  for  something  or  for  somebody.     I  bear 
my  Christian  cross  for  the  sake  of  the   bride- 
groom.    I  am  never  so  far  from  fasting  as  in 
that  moment  of  sacrifice.     My  fast  would  begin 
if  something  pi^evented  me  from  taking  up  that 
cross.    That  is  what  I  understand  Christ  to  mean 
when  He  says,  "  I  have  a  baptism  to  be  baptized 
with,    and     how   I   am    straitened    until    it    be 
accomplished  !  "  He  wanted  to  get  all  His  burden 
at  once  ;  He  was  hungry  for  want  of  it.     All  the 
world  was  keeping  Him  from  the  service  of  His 
love.     It  wanted  to  make  Him  a  king,  to  crown 
Him  with  temporal  glory.     It  was  as  if  you  tied 
the   wings   of   a   bird.     His   love   hungered    for 
humiliation,    sighed   for   surrender,   panted    for 


318    ROOT  OF  CHRISTIAN   ABNEGATION 

expression,  longed  for  lavishment,  thirsted  to 
wear  its  object's  thorn.  His  meat  and  His  drink 
was  to  do  the  will  of  His  Father. 

Lord,  give  nie  the  root  of  sacrifice — fill  me 
with  love  !  I  cannot  sacrifice  if  life  is  to  me  a 
poor  thing  ;  not  from  my  fasting  but  from  my 
fulness  comes  my  power  to  give.  I  cannot  toil 
for  the  sake  of  toil ;  I  must  have  dance-music. 
I  thank  Thee  that  there  is  so  much  dance-music 
in  the  world.  My  hand  would  long  since  have 
been  paralysed  if  my  heart  did  not  beat  time  to 
it.  I  have  often  w^ondered  that  it  was  in  Thy 
moment  of  greatest  joy  the  men  on  the  mount 
spake  of  Thy  decease  to  be  accomplished.  I  do 
not  wonder  now ;  the  "  law  of  the  spirit  of  life  " 
has  explained  it.  Thy  sacrifice  came  from  Thy 
heart's  glow,  not  from  its  ashes.  Is  it  not 
written  that  of  Thy  fulness  we  have  all  received ! 
It  is  not  Thy  emptiness  that  has  made  us  rich,  O 
Christ;  it  is  Thy  fulness — the  joy  of  Thy  love. 
I  too  would  tread  that  royal  way.  Hast  Thou 
for  me  some  arduous  w^ork  in  store.  Not  by  a 
fast,  but  by  a  feast,  do  Thou  prepare  me  !  Bring 
me  up  to  the  hill-top  ere  I  travel  through  the 
hollows !  Flood  me  with  the  sunshine  ere  I 
move  to  the  sacrifice  !  Fan  me  with  the  breezes 
ere  I  face  the  burden  !  Cheer  me  with  the  song 
ere  I  meet  the  silence  !  Make  me  rich  in  love 
that  I  may  lose  myself  !  Show  me  life's  splendour 


ROOT   OF   CHRISTIAN   ABNEGATION     319 

that  I  may  spend  myself  !  Put  a  crown  on  my 
head  that  I  may  bear  a  cross  in  my  heart !  Fill 
me  with  hope,  and  I  shall  endure  hardness.  Tell 
me  man's  value,  and  I  shall  brave  the  vale.  It  is 
they  who  see  the  kingdom  that  are  poor  in  spirit, 
for  it  is  the  optimist  that  is  the  offerer,  and  ho 
who  breasts  the  gloom  is  he  who  beholds  the 
glory. 


XCIII 
THE  STAGES  OF  CHRISTIAN  PERFECTION 

"Holy,  harmless,  undefiled." — Heb,  vii.  26. 

I  DO  not  look  upon  these  words  as  meaning 
the  same  thing.  I  think  they  stand  in  a 
designed  order  and  mark  distinct  stages  of 
development.  I  believe  that  the  course  of  a 
pure  life  must  always  be  in  three  successive 
steps — holiness,  harmlessness,  undefiledness.  It 
begins  with  holiness — the  purity  of  the  indi- 
vidual soul.  It  is  that  grace  of  God  which 
dwells  within  the  silent  heart — the  peace  which 
comes  from  communing  with  the  Father  of 
spirits.  Then  there  comes  a  second  stage — 
harmlessness.  It  might  seem  more  prosaic 
than  holiness,  but  it  is  not.  Holiness  may 
exist  in  solitude ;  harmlessness  demands  com- 
panionship. Holiness  belongs  to  the  garden ; 
harmlessness  is  for  the  city.  Holiness  refuses 
to  eat  the  apple ;  harmlessness  refuses  to  tempt 

320 


STAGES  OF  CHRISTIAN  PERFECTION    321 

Adam  to  eat.  At  last  there  dawns  a  final 
stage  which  leaves  harnilessness  itself  behind ; 
it  is  undefiledness.  To  be  undefiled  also  de- 
mands companionship ;  it  implies  the  meeting 
with  corruption.  But  it  is  a  more  complete 
conquest  of  corruption  than  is  harmlessness. 
Harmlessness  is  only  the  refusal  to  do  wrong ; 
but  undefiledness  is  the  insistence  to  do  right. 
To  be  undefiled  is  to  touch  the  world's  pollu- 
tion and  remain  pure,  to  touch  the  sinner's 
stain  and  remain  sinless.  It  is  the  climax  of 
all  holiness,  the  summer  of  the  soul.  Beautiful 
is  the  whiteness  of  the  untempted  heart;  more 
beautiful  still  is  the  whiteness  that  can  turL 
from  the  miry  clay  ;  but  methinks  the  white- 
ness most  beautiful  of  all  is  that  which  can 
touch  the  clay  and  keep  the  fleece  undimmed. 
Son  of  Man,  this  whiteness  was  Thine.  Three 
times  I  see  the  curtain  raised,  and  each  reveals 
a  phase  of  Thy  beauty.  At  first  Thou  art  the 
holy  child  Jesus,  growing  up  in  the  home  of 
Nazareth,  nourished  in  the  temple  of  Thy 
Father.  Then  I  see  a  change — the  hour  of 
temptation  comes.  Thou  passest  from  the  home 
into  the  wilderness — from  spontaneous  virtue 
to  tried  virtue.  JThe  world  tempts  Thee  to  do 
wrong  ;  but  Thou  refrainest  Thy  hand  from 
evil.  Thou  refusest  the  bread  of  selfishness  ; 
Thou  avoidest   the   leap   of   recklessness;  Thou 

22 


322    STAGES  OF  CHRISTIAN  PERFECTION 

abjurest    the     prize     of     covetousness — inward 
holiness  has  flowered  into  social  harmlessness. 
But  I  see  Thee,  once   more,  w^earing  a   flower 
more    beauteous    still — undefiledness.      It    is    a 
great    thing    to    be    in    the    world    and    do    no 
wrong ;  but  it  is  a  greater  thing  to  be  in  the 
■world   and  bloom.     A  plant  may  fail  to  poison 
which  yet  may  have  lost  its  beauty.     Thou  hast 
kept  Thy  best  wine  to  the  last.     In  Nazareth 
Thou   wert    inwardly   holy  ;   in   the   wilderness 
Thou  wert  outwardly  harmless ;  but  Thy  third 
hour  is  the  grandest — in  Thy  contact  with  the 
sinner   Thou    wert    stainless,    "  undefiled."      All 
life   pressed   on  Thee.      Lepers   thronged  Thee, 
demoniacs    touched    Thee,    outcasts   waited    on 
Thee ;    but   they   breathed   not   on   Thy  bloom. 
It  is  a  glorious  thing  to  be  morally  harmless  ; 
but  it  is  more  glorious  to  be  morally  unharmed. 
I   should   like    to   bask,    O   Lord,   in    this    Thy 
final  glory.     I  may  be  untempted  in  the  hour 
of  solitude ;  I  may  fly  from  temptation  in  the 
hour  of   companionship ;    but  Thy   climax   sur- 
passed both  of  these — it  was,  to  meet  the  hour 
of    temptation    and   be    unsullied    still.      Raise 
me    to    that    climax,    O    Christ!      The    purity 
of   the    untried    heart    is   not   enough  for   me. 
The  restraint  of   the  tied  hand  is  not   enough 
for  me.     I   want   my  heart  to  see  the  world  ; 
I  want  my  hand  to  touch  the  world.     I  would 


STAGES  OF  CHRISTIAN  PERFECTION    323 

be  unrestrained  and  yet  stainless.  I  would 
walk  through  the  cornfields  and  yet  keep  Thy 
Sabbath.  I  would  join  the  feast  of  Cana  and 
yet  keep  Thy  Sacrament.  I  would  tread  the 
coasts  of  Sidon  and  yet  love  Thine  Israel.  I 
would  touch  the  cloud  and  be  clear.  I  would 
bear  the  load  and  be  light.  I  would  meet  the 
sinner  and  be  saintly.  I  would  lift  the  fallen 
and  be  fadeless.  I  shall  reach  Thy  summer 
glory  when  I  can  meet  sin  with  garments 
undefiled. 


XCIV 
WHY  GOD   VALUES  PRAISE 


"  In  God  will  I  praise  His  word ;  in  the  Lord  will  I  praise 
His  word." — Psa.  Iv.  10. 


BEFORE  you  can  appreciate  the  words  of 
any  being,  you  require  to  be  a  partaker 
of  his  spirit.  That  is  a  principle  of  universal 
application.  It  is  as  true  of  every  book  as  of 
the  Bible.  It  is  often  said  that  in  studying 
the  work  of  any  author  we  should  be 
thoroughly  unbiassed.  That  is  impossible. 
The  first  condition  of  all  criticism,  as  it  seems 
to  me,  is  that  the  mind  of  the  reader  should 
be  biassed  in  favour  of  the  subject.  If  you 
put  a  volume  of  poems  into  the  hands  of  a 
critic  whose  taste  is  essentially  prosaic,  he 
will  see  no  beauty  that  he  can  desire  in  it.  It 
would  be  quite  correct  to  say,  "In  Tennyson 
shall  I  praise  Tennyson."  It  is  to  a  hundred 
mute  inglorious  Tennysons  that  the  great 
poet  is  indebted   for   his   praise ;   and   his   own 

32i 


WHY  GOD  VALUES   PRAISE  325 

satisfaction  must  have  been  the  knowledge 
that  there  were  so  many  in  the  world  who 
shared  his  spirit.  Now,  the  Psalmist  suggests 
that  this  community  of  spirit  is  that  which 
makes  God  delight  in  His  own  praise.  He  says, 
"  No  man  could  praise  God  unless  God  were  in 
him ;  no  man  could  appreciate  His  words  unless 
His  spirit  were  already  a  part  of  his  life."  I 
read  lately  in  an  atheistic  tract  a  sentence  to 
this  effect,  "Why  should  the  omnipotent  God 
be  so  weak  as  to  be  flattered  by  the  praise 
of  His  creatures ! "  He  is  not  flattered ;  He 
is  gratified.  He  is  unconscious  of  any  benefit 
to  Himself ;  but  He  sees  a  symptom  of  develop- 
ment in  His  children.  He  feels  that  His 
solitude  is  broken,  that  kindred  spirits  have 
arisen  to  share  His  nature.  What  a  man 
praises  either  in  God  or  his  brother  is  an 
indication  of  the  height  which  he  has  himself 
attained.  He  may  be  far  behind  in  achievement; 
he  may  be  far  behind  in  life.  But  his  praise 
is  the  measure  of  him.  It  predicts  his  coming 
glory.  It  tells  what  he  will  be  to-morrow.  It 
is  the  primrose  of  his  year.  The  cold  may  be 
still  around  him ;  his  environment  may  be  yet 
barren  and  bare.  But  the  primrose — the 
putting  forth  of  his  admiration — shows  that 
summer  is  on  the  way,  and  that  ere  long  the 
land  will    be    laden   with    fruits    and    flowers. 


326         WHY  GOD  VALUES  PRAISE 

That  is  why  the  heart  of  the  heavenly  Father 
rejoices  in  the  creature's  praise.  It  is  a  sign 
that  His  child  is  growing — growing  into  sym- 
pathy with  a  Father's  mind,  growing  into 
fellowship  with  a  Father's  heart.  God's  joy 
in  praise  is  a  paternal  joy. 

O  Thou  that  fillest  eternity  with  Thy  glories, 
my  praise  can  add  nothing  to  Thee.  When  I 
break  into  raptures  over  Thy  word,  it  con- 
tributes nothing  to  Thy  name.  But  it  con- 
tributes largely  to  mine.  My  praise  is  the 
swallow  that  tells  of  my  summer.  Receive  the 
song  of  my  swallow,  O  Lord!  Not  for  itself 
do  Thou  receive  it,  but  for  the  summer  which 
it  sings !  I  do  not  live  up  to  my  praise  ;  the 
world  says  I  am  an  inconsistent  man.  But 
that  is  because  the  dove  reaches  the  shore 
while  the  ark  is  still  struggling  with  the  waters. 
My  dove  of  praise  is  gone  out  from  the  ark 
ere  anything  else  can  go  out ;  it  is  the  first 
thing  that  has  seen  the  dry  land  appear. 
Receive  it  as  it  lights  upon  the  ground  ! 
Receive  it  though  it  comes  alone  !  It  is  only 
a  voice  of  admiration — a  cry  to  be  like  Thee, 
a  w^ish  to  be  better  than  I  am.  Yet  to  Thee 
it  is  a  messenger  of  joy  because  a  prophecy  of 
June.  Thou  imputest  the  leafage  of  June  to 
my  April  hours.  Thou  hearest  but  a  voice 
crying   in   a  wilderness  ;    yet   Thou   seest    Thy 


WHY  GOD   VALUES   PRAISE         327 

Christ  coming  up  behind  it.  It  is  the  coming 
Christ  that  makes  the  voice  of  praise  so  dear. 
Thou  find  est  Thy  Spirit  in  my  song.  Thou 
readest  Thy  peace  in  my  pean.  Thou  hearest 
Thy  commandments  in  my  cry.  Thou  seest 
Thy  will  in  my  wish.  Thou  discernest  Thy 
bloom  in  my  bud.  Thou  beholdest  Thy  life 
in  my  love.  The  moment  I  say,  "  Thou  art 
Divine,"  Thy  heart  responds,  "  Blessed  art  thou, 
Simon  Bar-jona,  for  flesh  and  blood  have  not 
revealed  it  unto  thee,  but  thy  Father." 


xov 

THE    CHANGED    STANDARD    OF    SOCIAL 
DIGNITY 

"  None  might  enter  into  the  king's  gate  clothed  with  sack- 
cloth."— Esther  iv.  2. 

THAT  is  a  true  picture  of  the  old  world.  It 
is  not  that  the  old  world  was  a  bad  world. 
It  is  not  that  it  was  inhumane  to  the  men  and 
women  who  are  clothed  in  sackcloth.  It  was 
quite  ready  to  provide  for  these  ;  the  one 
restriction  was  that  they  should  not  enter  the 
king's  gate.  The  old  world  had  places  for  its 
poor;  but  they  were  places  apart.  The  kings 
of  the  earth  threw  their  largesses  to  the  crass 
multitude  from  the  chariot  sweeping  by;  but 
the  chariot  did  sweep  by.  There  might  be 
gifts  from  Belgravia ;  but  there  could  be  no 
communion.  A  lazar  -  house  was  provided 
for  the  leper ;  but  the  joyous  came  not  near 
it.  A  hospital  was  provided  for  the  sick  ;  but 
they   who   gave    their    money   gave    not    their 

32ti 


STANDARD   OF  SOCIAL   DIGNITY      329 

company.  The  rich  might  send  charities  to  the 
needy  ;  but  they  sent  them — they  did  not  bring 
them.  They  commissioned  their  slaves  to  do 
the  menial  thing,  to  touch  the  unclean  thing ; 
none  clothed  in  sackcloth  could  enter  the  king's 
gate.  Men  believed  they  were  honouring  the 
king  by  not  permitting  him  to  touch  the  sack- 
cloth. Kingliness  was  deemed  the  opposite  of 
burdenedness.  Royalty  must  be  at  rest. 
Majesty  must  live  in  music.  Sovereignty 
must  bask  in  sunshine.  Power  must  be  un- 
perturbed by  feeling.  Supreme  will  must 
never  be  weighted.  The  crown  must  be  too 
high  for  its  wearer  to  touch  the  cross.  And 
because  this  was  the  view  held  of  earthly 
kinghood,  it  was  the  view  held  of  the  King  of 
heaven — a  man's  heaven  is  but  his  earth  in 
the  air.  The  man  of  that  day  thought  it 
glorious  that  a  human  king  should  touch  no 
sackcloth  ;  therefore  he  thought  such  immunity 
the  glory  of  the  King  of  Kings.  The  Ruler 
of  heaven  and  earth  must  dwell  apart  from 
tears.  He  must  give  His  angels  charge  of  the 
needy ;  He  Himself  must  be  curtained  from 
their  cry.  No  cloud  must  come  near  Him.  No 
mist  must  environ  Him.  No  voice  of  human 
storm  must  penetrate  the  secret  of  His  pavilion. 
None  that  wore  the  sackcloth  must  unbar  the 
portals  of  the  sacred  temple. 


330     STANDARD  OF  SOCIAL  DIGNITY 

I  thank  Thee,  O  Lord,  that  Thou  hast  taught 
us  a  new  ideal  of  royalty — a  reversed  ideal  of 
royalty.  I  thank  Thee  that  the  mission  of 
the  king  is,  now,  to  wear  the  sackcloth  of  his 
people.  I  thank  Thee  that  it  is  no  longer 
Divine  to  be  tearless,  Almighty  to  be  unable 
to  bear  clouds.  I  bless  Thee  that  there  has 
been  revealed  a  higher  joy  of  royalty  than 
being  clothed  in  imperial  purple  and  faring 
sumptuously  every  day — the  joy  of  ministering 
to  a  people's  pain.  No  more  do  we  look  for 
Thee  in  the  secret  of  Thy  pavilion.  Thou  art 
not  there,  O  Lord.  Thou  art  out  in  the  storm 
of  life  where  the  ship  is  tossing.  Thou  art 
down  in  the  vale  of  life  where  the  soul  is 
weeping.  Thou  art  treading  the  plain  of  life 
where  the  hand  is  struggling.  Thou  art  at 
Bethany  with  the  bereaved,  at  Sychar  with  the 
seeking,  at  Tiberias  with  the  toiling,  at  Sidon 
with  the  supplicating,  at  Bethesda  -with  the 
broken,  at  Golgotha  with  the  guilty.  Thou 
comest  with  clouds  ;  wherever  the  clouds  come, 
Thou  art  there.  Where  the  night  is.  Thou  art 
nigh  ;  vt^here  the  want  is.  Thou  art  waiting. 
Thou  treadest  in  the  path  of  my  tears  ;  Thou 
sittest  by  the  bed  of  my  sickness.  My  sackcloth 
has  become  my  royal  symbol — my  raiment  fit 
for  meeting  Thee.  None  can  enter  Thy  gate 
who   is   not  clothed   in  sackcloth.     There  stand 


STANDARD   OF  SOCIAL  DIGNITY     331 

the  poor  in  spirit,  the  meek,  the  thirsting ! 
There  stand  the  mourners  for  the  past  and 
the  hungering  for  the  future  !  There  stand  the 
labouring  and  the  laden,  the  restless  and  the 
homeless,  the  footsore  and  the  weary  !  Humility 
is  the  wing  that  soars  to  Thee ;  lowliness  is 
the  garb  we  wear  for  Thee ;  conscious  guilt  is 
the  flower  wherewith  we  adorn  for  Thee.  It 
is  the  recognition  of  our  own  rags  that  is  the 
warrant  for  our  coming ;  therefore  it  is  that  we 
enter  Thy  gates  with  praise. 


XCVI 

THE    RELATION    OF    TEMPORAL     TO 
SPIRITUAL    BLESSINGS 


"Thou  gavest  also  Thy  good  Spirit  to  instruct  them,  and 
withheldest  not  Thy  manna  from  their  mouth,  and  gavest 
them  water  for  their  thirst." — Neh.  ix.  20. 


THIS  strikes  me  as  a  rather  peculiar  order 
in  which  to  arrange  the  mercies  of  God. 
When  we  recount  the  Divine  benefits  we 
usually  begin  with  the  external  and  end  with 
the  spiritual — on  the  principle  that  the  best 
should  be  kept  to  the  last.  We  thank  God 
for  the  beauty  of  the  earth,  for  the  glory 
of  sea  and  sky,  for  the  blessings  of  daily 
sustenance  and  the  supply  of  hourly  need ; 
and  then  we  praise  Him  for  the  richer  gifts 
of  mind — for  reason,  imagination,  faith,  hope, 
love.  But  here  there  is  a  reversal  of  the 
order ;  Nehemiah  begins  by  praising  God  for 
the  gift  of  the  Spirit,  and  ends  by  acknow- 
ledging  His  provision   for   human   hunger  and 

332 


SPIRITUAL  BLESSINGS  333 

thirst.  Why  is  this  ?  We  should  expect  Israel 
to  be  an  external  nation — fond  of  temporal 
riches,  eager  for  earthly  joy ;  why  reverse 
her  natural  character  by  putting  the  spirit 
before  the  flesh !  I  answer,  She  has  not 
reversed  it ;  it  is  for  the  sake  of  temporal 
joy  that  she  has  put  the  spirit  before  the 
flesh.  In  her  experience  she  has  made  a 
discovery.  She  has  found  that  no  outward 
thing  Tvill  delight  the  soul  unless  the  soul 
is  disposed  to  be  delighted — that  it  is  vain 
to  say,  "Let  there  be  light,"  "Let  there  be 
a  firmament,"  "Let  there  be  herb  and  plant 
and  tree,"  unless  the  Spirit  has  begun  to 
move  on  the  face  of  the  waters.  We  greatly 
mistake  the  source  of  that  value  which  the 
Bible  puts  on  the  soul.  We  think  it  lies 
in  the  disparagement  of  earthly  objects.  It 
consists  in  the  reverse — the  appreciation  of 
earthly  objects.  It  is  because  the  Bible 
wants  man  to  enjoy  earth  more  that  it 
bids  him  begin  by  cultivating  the  spirit.  Is 
it  not  a  fact  of  experience  that  nearly  all 
the  pleasures  we  attribute  to  the  flesh  are 
pleasures  of  the  spirit.  Will  the  trees  of 
Eden  charm  the  troubled  heart;  will  the 
fruits  of  Eden  tempt  the  fretted  soul !  Is 
digestion  helped  by  downcastness  ;  is  the  bird's 
carol    heard   by   cara!     Society  palls   upon    the 


334  TEMPORAL  AND 

sad.  Music  jars  upon  the  miserable.  Walking 
fatigues  the  mentally  weary.  Beauty  repels 
the  inwardly  burdened.  The  grapes  of  Eschol 
are  only  luscious  to  the  glad.  Of  the  things 
of  earth  as  much  as  the  things  of  heaven 
might  Paul  have  said,  "  God  hath  revealed 
them  unto   us   by   His   Spirit." 

Lord,  there  are  words  of  Thine  on  which  I 
have  often  pondered  and  pondered  wrongly — 
"  What  shall  it  profit  a  man  if  he  gain  the 
whole  world  and  lose  his  own  soul ! "  I 
have  understood  Thee  to  say,  "  What  shall  it 
profit  thee  to  enjoy  earth  and  lose  heaven!" 
Nay,  my  Father,  not  such  is  Thy  meaning. 
Rather  Thy  words  are  these :  "  What  joy  on 
earth  canst  thou  have  if  thou  hast  lost  thy 
soul — yea,  even  shouldst  thou  gain  the  whole 
world!  If  earth  were  poured  into  thy  bosom, 
it  would  be  meaningless  without  thy  soul. 
What  would  the  fields  be  without  thy 
refined  feeling,  the  woods  without  thine 
inward  wealth,  the  grass  without  thy 
spirit's  greeting ! "  That  is  Thy  message,  O 
Lord,  and  it  is  a  message  for  earth.  I 
often  say,  "  Send  me  Thy  Spirit  to  prepare 
me  for  the  world  above ! "  But  I  need  it 
likewise  to  prepare  me  for  the  world  in 
which  I  dwell.  Therefore  in  future  I  shall 
also      say,     "Prepare     me     for     this     present 


SPIRITUAL  BLESSINGS  335 

scene,  O  Lord ! "  Send  nie  Thy  Spirit  to 
make  me  ripe  for  the  world  of  daily  life  ! 
Fill  me  with  grace  that  I  may  enjoy  the 
passing  hour  !  Gladden  me  within  that  I 
may  revel  in  the  sunshine  !  Light  my  heart 
that  the  flowers  may  be  luminous  !  Increase 
my  faith  so  that  trifles  may  not  fright  me ; 
burnish  my  hope  so  that  tempests  may  not 
blight  me ;  intensify  my  love  so  that  clouds 
may  not  benight  me !  Put  eternity  in  my 
heart  so  that  I  step  bravely  through  the 
courts  of  time !  I  shall  be  ripe  for  earth 
when   I   am   ready  for  heaven. 


XCVII 

FESTIVITY    UNDER    CHRISTIAN 
AUSPICES 

"  And  both    Jesus  was  called,   and    His  disciples,  to  the 
marriage." — John  ii.  2. 

I  UNDERSTAND  this  to  mean  that  Jesua 
was  bidden  officially — not  as  an  indi- 
vidual but  as  the  founder  of  a  religion.  If 
it  had  merely  been  said,  "  Jesus  was  bidden," 
it  would  have  implied  that  He  was  invited 
simply  as  a  private  guest.  But  when  it  is 
said  that  He  was  asked  along  with  His 
disciples,  private  guestship  is  put  out  of  the 
question ;  it  is  not  the  invitation  issued  to 
a  man — it  is  the  homage  paid  to  a 
principle.  Let  me  illustrate  what  I  mean. 
When  you  issue  the  invitations  to  a  ball, 
you  are  influenced  by  personal  reasons. 
You  are  not  committing  yourself  to  any 
policy ;  you  are  simply  expressing  your 
liking   for    certain   individuals.     But  when  you 

336 


CHRISTIAN  FESTIVITY  337 

intend  that  this  ball  shall  be  on  behalf  of 
the  Samaritan  Hospital,  the  Consumptive 
Hospital,  the  Fever  Hospital — when  you  say 
that  the  proceeds  shall  be  given  to  the 
Royal  Infirmary,  the  Orphanage  Home,  the 
House  of  Refuge— you  have  bidden  to  your 
gathering  not  a  man  but  a  cause,  not  a 
person  but  a  principle.  You  have  asked 
Christ  to  attend,  and  even  Him  you  have 
asked  in  a  particular  relation — not  as  the 
son  of  Mary,  not  as  the  brother  of  James, 
not  as  the  friend  of  well-known  families  in 
Galilee,  but  as  the  head  of  a  School,  as  the 
teacher  of  disciples,  as  the  fountain  and 
source  of  a  particular  charity  which  you 
'desire  to  make  the  interest  of  your  life. 
Now,  that  is  the  case  here.  There  were 
many  at  that  feast  invited  from  pure 
friendship — from  being  members  of  special 
families.  But  Jesus  was  invited  because  He 
was  not  the  member  of  a  special  family — 
because  He  had  in  Him  the  blood  of  all 
men.  He  was  invited  as  the  symbol  of 
human  sympathy,  as  the  sign  of  universal 
brotherhood.  By  numbering  Him  among  his 
guests  the  master  of  the  feast  meant  to 
say,  "I  dedicate  this  banquet  to  the  fellow- 
ship of  man  with  man.  I  put  it  under  the 
auspices   of    the   sj)irit   of  charity.     I   desire   it 

23 


338  CHRISTIAN  FESTIVITY 

to  be  a  feast  of  goodwill — a  monument  to 
the  sympathetic  marriage  of  all  souls.  May 
those  who  frequent  it  be  inspired  to  pray 
for  the  multitude  in  the  desert !  May  those 
who  enjoy  it  remember  the  sheep  who  are 
not  of  this  fold  !  May  those  who  give 
thanks  for  it  breathe  also  the  prayer,  *  Give 
others  this  day  their  daily  bread  ' !  May 
our  feast  be  a  communion  of  the  spirit — 
not  only  with  the  guests  at  the  table,  but 
with  those  whose  table  is  spread  in  the 
wilderness  or  whose  table  is  not  spread  at 
all !  May  the  presence  of  the  sacrificial 
Christ   suffuse   and   sanctify  our   joy ! " 

Lord,  I  would  put  every  pleasure  under  the 
auspices  of  Thy  Cross.  I  w^ould  write  on 
every  joy,  "In  behalf  of  Jesus."  I  would 
invite  Thee  to  every  projected  feast.  I  do 
not  mean  that  I  would  go  desiring  to  be 
unhappy,  but  that  I  would  go  desiring  to 
share  my  happiness.  I  would  have  my  joy 
to  be  a  means,  not  an  end.  I  would  ask 
my  soul  if  there  are  any  in  the  room  who 
participate  not,  who  are  crushed  and  weary, 
who  are  present  in  body  but  absent  in 
spirit.  I  would  ask  if  the  laugh  be  an 
expression  or  the  veil  of  an  expression — 
the  revealing  of  a  spontaneous  gladness  or 
the      restraint     of      a      spontaneous     grief.      X 


CHRISTIAN  FESTIVITY  339 

would  mark  the  untvatered  flowers  in  the 
garden  of  pleasure.  I  would  give  a  hand  to 
the  men  and  women  who  are  shunted  at  the 
festive  gathering,  who  are  little  known  and 
still  less  regarded.  I  would  have  a  word  for 
the  stranger  without  introduction,  for  the 
maiden  without  chaperon,  for  the  youth 
without  companion.  I  would  have  a  smile 
of  welcome  for  the  guest  sitting  under  a 
shadow,  for  the  man  who  carries  on  his 
garment  the  traces  of  a  stain  and  from 
w^hose  contact  surrounding  garments  are 
withdrawn.  I  would  link  myself  with  him. 
I  would  remember  how  at  Jordan's  waters 
the  Son  of  Man  was  bathed  with  sinners. 
I  too  would  take  the  lower  room.  I  would 
give  my  company  to  the  unclassed,  my  fellow- 
ship to  the  faded,  my  recognition  to  the 
robeless,  my  name  to  the  neglected,  my 
salute  to  the  spurned,  my  patronage  to 
those  whom  the  other  guests  have  passed 
by.  And  if  any  one  should  ask  me,  "  Why 
sittest  thou  in  the  places  of  the  unpreten- 
tious ? "  I  would  point  to  the  title  of  the 
banquet  and  say,  "It  is  a  feast  under  the 
auspices   of  Jesus." 


XCVIII 

THE   MINISTRATION   OF    THE    PHYSICAL 
TO  FAITH 

"  Beautiful  for  situation  is  Mount  Zion." — PsA.  xlviii.  2. 

I  DO  not  know  in  the  whole  Bible  a  passage 
exactly  like  this.  It  is  the  only  passage 
within  my  memory  in  which  the  Bible  makes 
a  direct  appeal  to  the  sense  of  physical  beauty 
for  its  own  sake.  Generally,  Nature  is  viewed 
only  as  the  vehicle  of  God ;  here,  it  stands  for 
itself  and  is  accorded  an  independent  place  as 
a  religious  educator.  At  first,  indeed,  such 
words  in  Scripture  sound  like  an  anti-climax. 
Mount  Zion  was  full  of  the  holiest  associa- 
tions— of  memories  that  were  sacramental,  of 
influences  that  inspired  the  breath  of  heaven. 
Does  it  not  seem  a  strange  thing  that  amid 
these  sacred  qualifications  there  should  be 
introduced  a  fact  so  earthly,  so  mundane,  so 
physical.     "  Beautiful    for   situation."     Fancy  a 

340 


THE   MINISTRATION   TO   FAITH       341 

preacher  inviting  one  to  worship  in  a  particu- 
lar house  of  God  for  such  a  reason  as  that! 
And  yet  the  psalmist  is  right.  The  presence 
of  physical  beauty  helps  worship.  All  emotion 
is  quickened  by  environment.  Even  creative 
imagination  is.  The  poet  may  construct  a 
new  world ;  but  he  will  do  it  better  under 
the  stars  of  heaven  than  under  the  roof  of  a 
garret.  It  is  easier  to  be  good  in  a  garden 
than  in  a  hovel.  It  is  easier  to  love  God  on 
the  mountain  peak  than  amid  the  dens  of 
human  poverty.  It  is  easier  to  think  of 
heaven  where  myriad  voices  roll  their  music 
than  where  the  sounds  of  wrangling  greet 
the  ear.  Why  do  you  bring  a  flower  to  the 
hospital?  If  you  want  to  teach  resignation 
to  an  invalid,  would  not  the  text  or  the 
tract  be  a  better  medium  than  the  painted 
garniture  that  meets  the  eye  ?  No ;  for  you 
can  only  teach  resignation  by  entering  the 
mind  at  a  side  door — by  directing  the  thought 
to  something  else.  A  man  accepts  his  pain, 
not  by  reflecting  on  it,  but  by  reflecting  on 
other  things.  The  tract  bids  me  be  patient ; 
the  flower  bids  me  forget.  The  tract  suggests 
lying  down;  the  flower  prophesies  springing  up. 
The  tract  reminds  me  of  my  impotence ;  the 
flower  reveals  the  glory  of  lesser  things  than 
I.      The    tract    speaks    of    God's    supernatural 


342      THE   MINISTRATION   TO  FAITH 

wiU;  the  flower  tells  of  God's  supernatural 
love.  The  tract  says,  "  Look  into  your  heart 
and  be  humble "  ;  the  flower  cries,  "  Look  out 
on  the  fields  and  be  glad." 

Lord,  I  have  often  asked  myself,  Why  didst 
Thou  lead  the  multitude  up  to  the  top  of 
a  mountain  before  xjreaching  to  them  Thy 
wondrous  sermon  ?  Was  it  not  a  waste  of 
time  to  postpone  the  teaching  till  the  hill 
was  climbed?  It  would  have  been  if  the  hill- 
top had  not  been  a  helper  of  the  teaching. 
But  Thou,  who  knewest  our  frame,  knewest 
the  power  of  physical  beauty.  It  was  not  for 
nothing  Thou  didst  first  cause  them  to  climb. 
The  summit  was  beautiful  in  situation ;  it  was 
gladdening  to  the  eye.  And  because  it  was 
gladdening  to  the  eye,  it  was  sought  by  Thee 
as  the  first  educator.  Thou  wouldst  not  begin 
with  a  sermon  even  from  Thine  own  lips. 
To  Thee  the  earliest  thing  w^as  that  the 
multitude  should  be  cheered.  Ere  ever  they 
received  advice  Thou  wouldst  have  them  to 
receive  joy.  I  doubt  not  that  before  they 
climbed  they  were  a  sorrowing  multitude.  I 
doubt  not  that  they  were  struggling  for  sur- 
vival— that  they  understood  what  it  was  to 
be  poor,  to  be  mourning,  to  be  hungry.  They 
were  the  men  of  life's  infirmary,  and  as  such 
Thou     didst     address     them.       But    Thy     first 


THE   MINISTRATION  TO   FAITH      343 

address  was  the  pointing  to  a  flower.  Ere 
ever  Thy  lips  were  opened  Thou  didst  lead 
them  to  the  summit  of  the  hill  and  allow 
them  to  gaze  on  the  glory.  Nature  was 
called  by  Thee  to  be  the  ally  of  grace.  On 
that  mountain  of  Thine  the  secular  and  the 
sacred  met  together  and  taught  together.  In 
that  hour  I  learned  that  Thou  wert  no  foe 
to  physical  beauty.  Thy  Divine  hand  was  not 
ashamed  to  hold  the  flower  of  an  earthly 
field.  Thy  Divine  heart  was  not  afraid 
to  wake  a  natural  minstrelsy  to  co-operate 
with  redeeming  love.  Thou  wert  not  jealous 
of  my  soul's  old  yearning.  Thy  heavenly 
garden  was  stocked  with  this  world's  roses ; 
I  thank  Thee,  O  Lord,  for  the  moral  of  Thy 
sermon  on  the  hill. 


XCIX 

THE   BONDAGE   THAT  UNBURDENS 

"  The  law  of  liberty."— Jas.  ii.  12. 

THERE  are  two  theories  in  the  "w.rrld 
about  the  human  will.  One  says,  "  Man 
is  a  slave ;  he  is  bound  hand  and  foot ;  Le  is 
for  ever  under  law."  The  other  says,  "  Man 
is  free ;  he  is  master  of  his  own  actions  ;  law 
has  no  dominion  over  him."  St.  James 
suggests  terms  of  peace  between  the  opposing 
views.  He  says  that  each  of  them  assumes 
something  which  is  wrong — that  "to  be  free" 
is  the  opposite  of  "  to  be  bound."  He  declares 
that  on  the  contrary  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
a  "  law  of  liberty  " — a  compulsion  whose  very 
essence  consists  in  the  strength  of  human 
will.  What  is  this  mysterious  union  of  con- 
traries— this  law  of  liberty?  It  can  be  ex- 
pressed in  one  word — love.  Love  is  at  once 
the    most    free    and    the    most    bound    of    all 


THE  BONDAGE  THAT  UNBURDENS  345 

things.  We  say  habitually  that  one  in  love 
is  "  captivated  " — made  prisoner.  And  yet  the 
prison  is  his  own  choice.  He  would  not  lose 
his  chain  for  all  the  world.  It  is  to  him  a 
golden  chain — the  badge  not  of  his  servitude 
but  of  his  empire.  It  represents  the  freest 
thing  in  his  nature — the  desire  of  his  heart. 
My  love  is  my  heart's  desire,  my  heart's 
hunger,  my  heart's  prayer.  It  is  the  strongest 
exercise  of  will  conceivable.  Nothing  shows 
the  power  of  my  will  like  my  love.  It  is  the 
po^ver  of  my  personality  to  pass  out  of  itself 
and  to  claim  a  share  in  yours — to  say,  "  You 
are  mine."  James  is  right  when  he  says  that 
love  is  the  marriage  of  opposites — liberty  and 
law.  Love  is  at  once  the  most  self-subduing 
and  the  most  self-revealing  of  all  things.  It 
gives  its  neck  to  the  yoke ;  it  becomes  the 
slave  of  its  object.  It  bears  another's  burden, 
it  stoops  to  another's  service,  it  carries 
another's  care.  But  when  my  heart  enters 
that  prison-house  it  for  the  first  time  becomes 
free.  It  puts  on  fetters ;  but  by  its  fetters  it 
flies.  It  receives  heavy  weights ;  but  by  its 
weights  it  is  winged.  It  contracts  stringent 
ties ;  but  its  ties  make  its  treasures.  The 
bonds  of  love  are  the  source  of  its  boundless- 
ness. Each  new  chain  is  a  new  chariot.  I 
flower     by    self-forgetfulness.      I     grow     when 


346  THE  BONDAGE  THAT  UNBURDENS 

underground.     I    reach   the   bloom   of   summer 
in  the  burial  of  self. 

Lord,  imprison  me  in  Thy  love,  and  I  shall 
fly.  My  heart  has  no  freedom  till  it  is 
mastered ;  it  must  be  captured  ere  it  can  take 
wing.  When  my  heart  has  no  master  it  has 
no  power  of  flight,  no  passion,  no  pinion.  It 
scales  not  the  heaven,  it  seeks  not  the  mount, 
it  soars  not  to  meet  the  morning.  It  lies  in 
a  state  of  torpor,  of  death.  But  when  its 
love  comes,  it  is  liberated.  When  Thou 
sendest  it  a  master.  Thou  wakes t  it  into 
music ;  the  hour  of  its  captivity  is  the  hour 
of  its  emancipation.  Be  Thou  the  master  of 
my  heart,  O  Lord !  Break  its  independence, 
and  set  it  free.  Captivate  it  with  the  sight 
of  Thy  beauty  !  Inspire  it  with  the  touch  of 
Thy  presence !  Kindle  it  with  a  sense  of  Thy 
glory !  The  disease  of  my  heart  is  its  failure 
to  find  an  object  ;  it  has  no  energy  when  it 
has  no  ruler.  Be  Thou  its  ruler,  O  Christ ! 
Wield  its  sceptre,  and  it  will  lose  its  weak- 
ness ;  wear  its  crown,  and  it  will  be  strong ; 
conquer  it,  and  it  will  be  courageous ;  domi- 
nate it,  and  it  will  be  deathless ;  enfold  it, 
and  it  will  banish  fear.  Thy  prison  will  be 
its  power ;  Thy  sway  will  be  its  strength ; 
Thy  service  will  be  its  song.  It  will  find  the 
wings    of    a    dove    when   it   rests   in    Thee.     It 


THE  BONDAGE  THAT  UNBURDENS  347 

will  burst  into  melody  when  its  strings  are 
swept  by  Thee.  It  will  traverse  the  flood  of 
waters  when  its  ark  is  built  in  Thee.  There 
are  no  forces  so  potent  as  those  of  my  sub- 
jugated heart;  Thy  law  of  love  is  perfect 
liberty. 


THE  DOOR  OF  CYRUS 

"  That  tVe  word  of  the  Lord  by  the  mouth  of  Jeremiah  might 
be  fulfilled,  the  Lord  stkred  up  the  spirit  of  Cyrus." — 
Ezra  i.  1. 

BY  the  minds  of  the  religious  people  of 
that  age  Cyrus  would  not  have  been 
reckoned  a  religious  man.  He  was  not  re- 
garded as  a  worshipper  of  the  same  God 
whom  Moses  worshipped.  In  the  popular 
estimation  of  Israel  he  was  one  of  the  heathen. 
We  should  have  called  him  in  our  day  a 
non-churchgoer,  a  man  who  had  not  attached 
himself  to  the  Christian  communion.  Yet  this 
non-churchgoer,  this  alien  from  the  table  of 
communion,  this  man  outside  the  pale  of  God's 
visible  temple,  is  made  the  subject  of  one 
of  the  divinest  inspirations  that  ever  flashed 
through  a  human  soul,  "  The  Lord  stirred  up 
the  spirit  of  Cyrus."  Through  that  inspiration 
he   published    a    decree    which    permitted  the 

348 


THE   DOOR  OF  CYRUS  349 

children  of  Israel  to  return  to  their  own  land. 
I  wonder  that  with  their  narrow  views  the 
children  of  Israel  did  not  refuse  from  such  a 
source  the  gift  of  their  own  liberation.  I  have 
known  a  congregation  to  reject  a  very  large 
charitable  subscription  on  the  ground  that  it 
came  from  a  dealer  in  the  wine  trade.  The 
Israelites  received  a  greater  boon  than  that, 
and  from  a  still  more  unlikely  source.  They 
had  been  offered  a  charter  of  freedom  by  a 
foreign  king  with  a  foreign  religion.  Should 
we  not  expect  that  they  would  have  declined 
to  be  indebted  for  their  nationality  to  any 
faith  outside  their  nation.  They  did  not  so 
decline,  and  that  is  to  their  honour.  It  looks 
as  if  their  foreign  environment  had,  for  the 
time  being,  broadened  them.  At  all  events, 
their  experience  should  broaden  us.  It  should 
teach  us  that  neither  God  nor  His  worship 
nor  His  inspiration  is  confined  to  temples 
made  with  hands,  that  there  are  more  doors 
to  things  Divine  than  man  has  dreamed  of 
in  his  philosophy,  and  that  the  channels  of 
religious  communion  are  wider  and  deeper 
than  we  know. 

My  brother,  there  are  many  who  enter  the 
kingdom  by  the  door  of  Cyrus — the  door  that 
has  no  number.  It  is  good  to  enter  by  the 
doors  that  are  numbered — by  the  sanctuary,  by 


350  THE   DOOR  OF   CYEUS 

the  communion,  by  the  baptismal  font,  by  the 
study  of  the  Word.  But  let  us  not  say  that 
these  are  exhaustive !  If  I  see  a  man  in  the 
temple  who  has  not  entered  by  any  known 
door  or  any  visible  window,  I  feel  that  there 
must  be  a  secret  passage ;  I  will  call  it  the 
aperture  of  Cyrus.  Whence  have  come  the 
myriad  voices  thou  hearest  of  unbaptized 
infants  in  the  paradise  of  God?  By  the  aper- 
ture of  Cyrus.  Whence  have  come  the  myriad 
great  souls  thou  seest  in  the  lands  of  the 
heathen  ?  By  the  aperture  of  Cyrus.  Whence 
have  come  the  many  amiable  lives  that  have 
not  found  a  resting-place  for  faith  ?  By  the 
aperture  of  Cyrus.  Whence  have  come  those 
sacrificial  spirits  that  have  not  yet  ascended 
the  visible  steps  of  God's  altar?  By  the 
aperture  of  Cyrus.  Whence  have  come  the 
weariness  of  the  worldling,  the  pallidness  of 
the  pleasure-seeker,  the  disgust  of  the  de- 
bauchee, the  self-loathing  of  the  licentious, 
the  satiety  of  the  besotted,  the  thirst  of 
those  without  thought  of  God?  By  the  aper- 
ture of  Cyrus.  The  voice  of  the  Lord  often 
cries  in  the  wilderness ;  let  its  accents  be 
sacred  to  thee !  Call  not  the  goodness  of 
Cyrus  a  mere  gift  of  nature ;  recognise  it  as 
God's  grace  !  Though  Israel  acknowledge  him 
not,  deem  him  not  an  alien  from  thy  Father ! 


THE   DOOR  OF  CYRUS  351 

Consecrate  his  secret  passage !  Accept  his 
private  door !  Canonise  his  unseen  porch  into 
the  temple !  Though  his  table  is  prepared  in 
the  wilderness,  give  him  the  name  of  commu- 
nicant! Though  his  dove  descends  in  the 
desert,  send  him  thy  message  of  peace  !  Though 
his  songs  of  Bethlehem  are  only  heard  by 
night,  admit  him  to  the  choir  invisible  ! 
Breathe  for  him  thy  brotherhood !  Claim  for 
him  thy  comradeship !  Hold  out  to  him  the 
social  hand  !  Greet  him  with  thy  graciousness  ! 
Feast  him  with  thy  fellowship !  Meet  him 
with  thy  music !  Wave  to  him  thy  wel- 
come !  Brave  for  him  the  blame  of  converse 
with  the  alien !  Reject  not  the  syren's  strain 
though  it  come  through  the  door  of  Cyrus ! 


01 

CHRIST'S  SELECTION   FOR  THE   MOUNT 


*'  Jesus  taketh  with  Him  Peter,  and  James,  and  John,  and 
leadeth  them  up  into  a  high  mountain  apart  by  themselves." 
— Mark  ix.  2. 


THERE  are  some  minds  that  have  momenta 
of  religious  elevation.  I  would  not  say- 
that  all  religious  people  have.  The  large 
majority  are  destined  for  the  plain,  and  find 
on  the  plain  all  that  they  need.  But  there 
are  some  men  who  are  destined  for  the  valley, 
and  these  require  moments  on  the  mount. 
Consider  the  three  in  the  passage  that  were 
so  elevated — Peter,  James,  and  John.  Is  there 
any  point  of  likeness  between  these?  Yes — 
they  were  all  bound  for  the  inner  circle  of 
Gethsemane.  They  were  to  be  together  in 
the  sharing  of  Christ's  sorrow,  and  therefore 
they  are  brought  together  in  an  experience 
of  joy.  I  used  to  wonder  why  the  three  men 
taken  to    the   glory   of    the    Mount    were  the 

352 


SELECTION  FOR  THE  MOUNT        353 

same  three  afterwards  taken  to  the  sadness 
of  the  Garden.  I  understand  it  now ;  it  was 
because  they  were  destined  for  the  Garden 
that  they  were  carried  to  the  Hill.  The  lives 
that  most  need  sunbeams  are  the  lives  that 
are  to  be  called  into  the  inner  grounds  of 
Gethsemane.  Only  these  three  got  there. 
Among  the  others  there  were  splendid  workers  ; 
Andrew  was  a  finder  of  men,  and  Philip  a 
political  economist,  and  Matthew  a  dispenser 
of  Christian  hospitality.  But  just  on  account 
of  their  work  they  had  less  time  to  feel  ;  the 
urgency  of  labour  precluded  the  entrance  of 
depression.  Peter,  James,  and  John  were  all 
destined  for  the  burdens  of  the  soul  rather 
than  the  burdens  of  the  body.  Peter  was  to 
weep  over  his  sin.  James  was  to  die  a 
martyr  in  life's  morning.  John  was  to  bear 
in  Patmos  an  exile  by  a  lonely  sea.  They 
were  all  coming  to  states  of  mind  in  which 
work  would  be  impossible  and  which  would 
require  ^another  aid  than  the  plain.  And  so 
Jesus  took  them  up  to  the  mountain.  He 
gave  them  a  draught  of  delight  in  anticipa- 
tion of  the  day  of  darkness.  He  gave  them 
a  sight  of  the  sunbeam,  a  glimpse  of  the  glory, 
a  cluster  of  the  grapes  of  Canaan.  He  said 
in  effect :  "  It  will  be  a  sustaining  memory 
to  you  in  the  coming  days.     When   the   pillar 

24 


354        SELECTION  FOR  THE  MOUNT 

of  cloud  is  around  you,  you  shall  have  a 
pillar  of  fire  behind  you.  You  shall  live  by 
the  light  of  yesterday ;  you  shall  glow  with 
the  sunshine  of  the  past.  The  songs  of  the 
morning  shall  be  with  you  in  the  night ;  the 
air  of  the  mountain  shall  be  with  you  in 
the  dungeon ;  the  remembrance  of  the  music 
shall  be  with  you  in  the  battle's  roar." 

Lord,  I  thank  Thee  for  my  glimpses  on  the 
hill ;  it  is  by  these  I  conquer  in  Gethsemane. 
Nothing  but  joy  can  conquer  sorrow.  I  can 
triumph  through  the  cross,  but  never  hy  the 
cross.  Even  in  Thy  cross  Thy  victory  came 
from  Thy  peace — from  the  joy  already  laid  up 
in  Thy  heart.  I  could  never  bear  my  hour 
in  the  valley  were  it  not  for  the  memory  of 
my  hour  on  the  height.  There  is  an  angel 
that  comes  to  sijrengthen  me,  and  that  angel 
comes  from  the  past.  I  remember  the  days 
of  old,  and  I  refuse  to  let  my  spirit  touch 
the  lowest  ground.  I  should  be  consumed 
but  for  my  yesterdays — the  retrospects  of 
Thy  love.  Therefore,  O  Lord,  I  prize  my 
glimpses  on  the  hill.  Men  tell  me  they  are 
valueless — only  coming  that  they  may  pass 
away.  Yes ;  but  it  is  when  they  pass  away 
that  they  are  strong.  It  is  in  memory  they 
are  mighty.  I  never  know  their  power  till 
they  are   gone.      The  songs  of  the  noon  come 


SELECTION  FOR  THE   MOUNT        355 

back  to  me  in  the  night.  The  rose  of  the 
dawn  returns  to  me  at  dusk.  The  view  from 
the  hill  supports  me  in  the  hollow.  Send 
me  Thy  draught  for  the  desert  !  Pour  me 
Thy  wine  for  the  weariness !  Gird  me  with 
strength  for  my  struggle !  Arm  me  with 
peace  for  my  Patmos  !  Bring  me  a  flower 
for  life's  fading  !  Light  me  a  torch  for  earth's 
tunnel !  Nerve  me  with  calm  for  my  crosses  ! 
Fill  me  with  joy  for  my  journey  !  One  breath 
of  Thy  mountain  air  will  keep  me  all  the  day. 


en 


THE  TEMPORARY  LOSS    INVOLVED    IN 
ETERNAL   GAIN 

"  The  woman  then  left  her  waterpot,  and  went  her  way  into 
the  city,  and  saith,  Is  not  this  the  Christ  ?  " — John  iv.  28,  29. 

THE  leaving  behind  of  the  pitcher  was  an 
act  of  forgetfulness.  It  was  a  forget- 
fulness  of  something  which  half  an  hour  before 
had  engrossed  her  whole  attention.  She  has 
come  to  draw  water — to  provide  for  the  secular 
w^ants  of  daily  life.  She  has  filled  the  pitcher 
and  is  about  to  carry  it  home.  Suddenly  she 
meets  Jesus  and  hears  something  that  fascinates 
her.  She  forgets  all  about  the  pitcher — about 
her  long  walk  to  fill  it  and  the  trouble  she  has 
had  in  the  process.  She  leaves  it  behind  as 
though  it  were  of  no  consequence  to  her  ;  she 
flies  back  to  the  city  on  the  wings  of  a  new 
thought.  The  leaving  behind  of  the  pitcher  was 
a  lapse  of  memory  on  her  part.  Lapses  of 
memory  are  often  referred  to  mental  weakness ; 

956 


LOSS  INVOLVED  IN  GAIN  357 

I  think  the  larger  number  come  from  mental 
strength — absorption  in  a  deeper  interest.  It  is 
often  charged  against  revival  movements  that 
they  withdraw  our  minds  from  common  and 
useful  things.  In  the  keenness  of  the  new 
pursuit  the  pitcher  may  be  unfilled  or  it  may 
be  filled  and  left  behind  at  the  well.  I  have 
frequently  heard  critics  animadvert  on  the  home 
deshabille  of  those  engrossed  in  religious 
meetings.  But  if  the  religion  be  sincere,  that  is 
a  mere  temporary  disorder ;  it  will  not  last 
This  woman  would  find  the  pitcher  again,  and 
she  would  be  a  better  drawer  of  water  ever 
afterward.  She  would  find  that  the  new 
interest  would  not  only  make  room  for  the  old 
but  intensify  the  value  of  the  old.  Had  not  the 
drawing  of  the  water  already  been  consecrated  ! 
Had  not  this  humble  secular  act  ministered  to 
the  thirsty  lips  of  the  Son  of  Man  !  With  such 
an  association,  could  it  ever  be  secular  any 
more  !  The  site  of  a  great  victory  may  be  only 
a  village  hamlet ;  but  the  victory  makes  it 
immortal.  The  consecration  of  this  cup  to 
Christ  made  it  sacramental.  Her  going  to  the 
well  would  nevermore  be  common  or  unclean. 
It  would  thenceforth  be  always  a  sacred  duty,  a 
Church  service,  a  work  for  the  sanctuary.  It 
would  be  as  solemn  to  her  as  a  prayer.  The 
place  of  household  sustenance  would  be  holy ; 


358  LOSS  INVOLVED  IN  GAIN 

she  would  always  expect,  when  she  went  to  the 
well,  to  meet  a  Christ  there. 

Lord,  when  I  meet  Thee,  do  not  let  me  leave 
my  pitcher  for  long  behind  !  Insignificant  as  it 
seems,  it  may  yet  perform  a  service  to  Thee. 
Often  in  my  moment  of  elevated  rapture  I  have 
said,  "  Let  me  forget  the  things  of  the  day  and 
of  the  dust !  "  And  by  and  by  there  has  come  a 
thorn.  The  troubles  of  the  home  have  called  me 
down  from  the  mount.  Common  duties,  prosaic 
demands,  domestic  needs,  have  clamoured  for  a 
hearing  ;  the  cloud  has  interrupted  the  vision  of 
Moses  and  Elias  and  Thee.  I  call  that  cloud  my 
thorn,  and  it  makes  me  fret.  I  cry  within  my 
soul,  "  Why,  after  having  seen  Thee,  should  I  be 
sent  back  to  my  pitcher  at  the  well ! "  Teach 
me  to  thank  Thee  for  the  thorn  just  because  it 
sends  me  back  !  Teach  me  that  this  life  below 
was  not  made  to  be  left  behind !  Teach  me  that 
the  pitcher  at  the  well  was  not  intended  to  be 
broken  when  the  new  vision  came,  but  rather  to 
become  a  vessel  of  Thy  sanctuary,  a  cup  for  Thy 
communion !  Forbid  that  Thy  light  should 
irradiate  only  my  mountains !  Let  it  come 
down,  O  Lord — down  to  street  and  lane,  down  to 
mart  and  alley  !  May  it  warm  the  household 
hearth  ;  may  it  prepare  the  morning  meal ;  may 
it  provide  the  daily  dinner ;  may  it  trim  the 
twilight  torch ;    may  it  tune   the   social   song ; 


LOSS  INVOLVED  IN  GAIN  359 

may  it  prompt  congenial  converse  ;  may  it  wake 
melodious  mirth  ;  may  it  lift  financial  fogs  ; 
may  it  cheer  business  embarrassments  ;  may  it 
revive  heavy  hearts ;  may  it  guide  panting 
pilgrims  to  the  well  !  Let  me  resume  for  Thee 
the  pitcher  I  have  left  behind  ! 


cm 

THE    PLACE    IN    CHRIST    FOR 
BEPENTANCE 

••  JesuES  saw  a  man,  named  Matthew,  sitting  at  the  receipt  of 
custom :  and  He  saith  unto  him,  Follow  Me." — Matt.  ix.  9. 

THERE  is  one  peculiarity  with  which  I 
have  been  struck  in  the  calls  of  Jesus ; 
they  are  not  preceded  by  any  denunciation  of 
the  man's  past  life.  The  Baptist's  were;  his 
initial  cry  is,  "  Repent !  "  Jesus,  indeed,  calls  to 
a  life  which  involves  repentance  ;  but  repentance 
is  not  His  initial  cry.  Not  even  is  it  so  in  the 
parable  of  the  prodigal  son ;  the  Father  gives 
His  demonstration  of  love  before  any  expression 
of  sin  on  the  part  of  the  prodigal.  He  sees  him 
afar  off,  He  has  compassion,  He  runs  across  the 
intervening  space  to  meet  him.  He  folds  him  in 
His  arms  and  lavishes  on  him  His  affection  ere 
ever  one  word  of  contrition  falls  from  his  lips. 
In  the  case  of  Matthew  we  should  have  expected 
the  first  note  of  Jesus  to  have  been  reproach. 

360 


PLACE  IN  CHRIST  FOR  REPENTANCE   361 

Matthew  had  been  living  vohintarily  the  life  of 
a  slave.  He  had  become  the  truculent  servant 
of  Roman  masters  and  had  wrung  for  them  the 
tribute  from  his  countrymen.  Should  we  not 
expect  the  first  cry  of  Jesus  to  have  been, 
"  Think  shame  of  yourself  ! "  It  is  not ;  it  is, 
"  Follow  Me !  "  Can  we  account  for  this  ?  Yes, 
it  shows  His  profound  wisdom  and  how  much 
deeper  He  sees  than  the  world  sees.  The  world 
thinks  that  a  man  begins  by  repenting  and  then 
turns  to  follow  the  right  way.  It  is  the  reverse. 
He  begins  by  following  the  right  way  and  then  he 
repents  of  being  so  long  on  the  wrong  one.  It 
is  not  our  sorrow  for  the  past  that  leads  us  to 
form  a  beautiful  ideal ;  it  is  our  reception  of  a 
beautiful  ideal  that  leads  us  to  sorrow  for  the 
past.  Matthew  does  not  say,  "I  have  led  an 
ignoble  life  and  must  now  see  Christ"  ;  he  says, 
'•  I  have  seen  Christ,  and  therefore  I  know  that 
my  life  has  been  ignoble."  God's  first  season  for 
every  converted  man  is  the  summer.  He  is  not 
at  once  shown  the  winter  of  his  own  soul ;  he  is 
plunged  at  first  into  the  Divine  radiance.  He 
only  learns  his  rags  by  seeing  the  new  garment 
that  is  to  clothe  him.  He  never  knows  his  pool 
to  be  stagnant  till  he  stands  by  the  great  sea. 
It  is  when  the  waves  wash  his  feet,  when  the 
spray  refreshes  his  countenance,  when  the  swell 
of  ocean  murmurs  in  his  ear,  that  he  remembers 


362    PLACE  IN  CHRIST  FOR  REPENTANCE 

the  inland  pool  of  yesterday  and  cries,  "  These 
were  not  living  waters  !  " 

Lord,  let  mine  be  the  call  of  Matthew — the 
call  into  summer  radiance  !  Let  me  not  say 
w^ithin  my  heart,  "I  dare  not  come  ;  I  have  not  a 
sufficient  sense  of  my  own  inadequacy  "  !  Teach 
me  that  the  sense  of  my  own  inadequacy  can 
only  be  born  in  Thy  light,  only  perfected  in 
heaven  !  I  have  always  thought  the  knowledge 
of  my  sin  a  beginners  lesson  ;  reveal  to  me  that 
it  is  the  lesson  for  the  highest  class  of  Christian ! 
I  shall  only  become  dissatisfied  when  I  reach 
Thy  grace ;  therefore  let  Thy  grace  be  my 
earliest  seeking  !  Let  me  not  begin  by  trying  to 
feel  my  corruption  !  Let  not  my  first  journey 
be  an  inspection  of  my  own  quagmire  !  Let  it 
be  a  flight  over  the  ocean  of  Thy  love  !  Let  me 
soar  at  once  to  the  crystal  fountain,  to  the  river 
of  life,  to  the  streets  of  gold !  Let  not  my 
opening  thought  be  of  my  tabernacles  of  clay  ; 
let  it  fly  up  to  the  gates  of  pearl  and  the  rainbow 
of  emerald  and  the  skies  without  night !  Make 
not  my  first  voyage  retrospective ;  let  me  begin, 
not  with  the  past,  but  with  the  future  !  Let  the 
earliest  voice  I  hear  be  the  voice  Matthew  heard 
— "  Follow  Me "  !  Be  Thou  my  beginning,  O 
Lord  !  Let  me  enter  Thy  temple  by  the  gate 
called  Beautiful !  Bring  me  at  once  into  Thy 
summer,  to-day  into  Thy  paradise  !     Wait  not 


PLACE  IN  CHRIST  FOR  REPENTANCE    363 

for  my  weeping,  tarry  not  for  my  tears,  delay 
not  till  I  feel  my  destitution  !  Clothe  me  noic  in 
the  garments  of  Thy  righteousness !  Lead  me 
instantaneously  from  darkness  into  light !  Bear 
me  at  a  bound  into  the  centre  of  Thy  bosom  ! 
Then  for  the  first  time  I  shall  mourn  my  mean- 
ness, then  for  the  first  time  I  shall  know  my 
nothingness  ;  for  I  shall  read  my  retrospect  in 
the  glow  and  I  shall  detect  my  discord  in  the 
music.  I  shall  find  my  own  measure  when  I 
have  followed  Thee. 


CIV 

THE    CONTENTMENT    THAT    IS 
UNSPIRITUAL 

"  Men  of  the  world  have  their  portion  in  this  life ;  as  for  me, 
I  shall  be  satisfied  when  I  awake  with  Thy  likenegs." — PsA. 
xvii.  14,  15. 

THE  idea  evidently  is  that  the  difference 
between  the  man  of  the  world  and  the 
man  of  God  lies  in  the  amount  of  their  ambi- 
tion. The  popular  notion  is  that  the  worldly- 
man  is  more  ambitious  than  the  unworldly.  The 
psalmist  says  it  is  exactly  the  reverse.  He  says, 
"  Worldly  men  have  their  portion  in  this  life — 
are  quite  satisfied  with  what  they  can  get  here  ; 
as  for  me,  who  am  supposed  to  represent  the 
other  side,  I  shall  never  be  content  with  any- 
thing here — I  shall  only  be  satisfied  when  I 
awake  in  the  likeness  of  the  Almighty."  I 
suppose  it  is  equivalent  to  saying  that  the 
mark  of  a  child  of  God  is  his  eternal  thirst — 
his    perpetual   reaching   toward    a   goal   which, 

361 


UNSPIRITUAL  CONTENTMENT       365 

because  it  is  infinite,  can  never  be  attained 
below.  This  comparison  of  worldliness  and 
unworldliness,  though  so  very  ancient,  is  ex- 
ceedingly novel.  It  is  in  apparent  contradic- 
tion to  the  phrase,  "the  pride  of  life."  If,  as 
St.  John  says,  worldliness  is  pride,  how  can  the 
psalmist  say  that  it  is  the  absence  of  ambition  ? 
Is  it  not  a  state  of  soaring,  of  looking  up,  of 
unsatisfiedness  ?  No,  my  brother ;  its  danger 
is  just  that  it  is  not.  Every  proud  man  is  a 
satisfied  man ;  in  so  far  as  he  is  ambitious 
there  is  an  element  of  humility  left  within  him. 
Pride,  as  such,  never  soars.  It  is  the  conscious- 
ness of  being  already  on  the  mountain-top  and 
looking  down.  We  speak  familiarly  of  "  tread- 
ing the  mountains  of  vanity."  Yes,  but  it  is  of 
"treading,"  not  "climbing."  Vanity  is  always 
on  the  summit.  Its  eye  ever  rests  on  something 
beneath  it.  It  sees  no  height,  no  eminence,  no 
pinnacle  beyond  it.  It  enjoys  the  downward 
gaze.  It  cannot  exist  with  an  upward  gaze. 
To  see  a  region  above  it,  would  be  its  death ; 
it  can  only  live  so  long  as  it  can  say,  "I  have 
much  goods  laid  up  for  many  days."  Those 
who  tread  the  mountains  of  vanity  are  not  the 
men  who  aspire  to  high  things.  They  are  those 
who,  like  Alexander,  see  no  more  worlds  to 
conquer,  who  have  reached  the  uttermost  peak 
of  expectation  and  scaled  the  farthest  limit  of 


366       UNSPIRITUAL  CONTENTMENT 

desire.  Their  flight  is  over ;  their  climbing  is 
ended ;  their  goal  of  ambition  is  won ;  and  they 
have  now  only  to  feel  their  superiority  by  the 
privilege  of  looking  down. 

Be  not  mine  this  life,  O  Lord !  There  is  too 
little  ambition  in  it  for  me,  too  little  aspiration, 
too  little  sight  of  the  high  places.  I  want  to 
have  something  to  look  forward  to.  I  want  to 
have  the  child's  sense  of  to-morrow,  and  the 
joy  of  it.  I  would  not  have  the  peace  of 
autumn,  whose  very  fulness  precludes  the 
promise  of  more,  whose  very  satisfaction  pre- 
vents the  hope  of  to-morrow.  Be  mine, 
rather,  the  primrose  which  is  all  promise 
and  nothing  fulfilled !  Be  mine,  rather,  the 
child-life,  which  sees  the  kingdom  all  to  come 
and  stretches  empty  hands  to  receive  its 
gifts !  Be  mine,  rather,  the  view  from  the 
valley  where  everything  is  seen  by  looking  up 
and  the  landscape  appeals  to  my  lowliness ! 
Though  I  walk  through  the  valley  I  shall  fear 
no  evil,  though  I  pass  through  the  shadow  I 
shall  fear  no  dismay  ;  for  the  valley  is  the  voice 
of  my  aspiring,  and  the  shadow  is  the  promise 
of  my  shining.  Thou  hast  given  to  everything 
its  own  form  of  rest.  Not  all  things  can  rest 
in  quietude.  The  rest  of  the  brook  is  its  bab- 
bling and  the  rest  of  the  river  is  its  running  and 
the  rest  of  the  sea  is  its  swelling.     So  also  hast 


UNSPIRITUAL  CONTENTMENT       3G7 

Thou  made  quietude  not  the  rest  of  my  soul. 
Its  rest  comes  only  when  it  is  on  the  wing. 
Its  peace  is  its  upward  pinion  ;  it  flowers  by  its 
flight.  The  world  prizes  the  sense  of  fulness ; 
the  soul  asks  of  Thee  the  sense  of  emptiness 
and  the  sight  of  the  coming  goal.  Ever  show 
me  a  height  beyond ;  ever  point  me  to  a  world 
to  come !  Wing  me  by  my  wants !  Stimulate 
me  by  my  shortcomings !  Inspire  me  by  my 
insufficiency !  Propel  me  by  my  conscious 
poverty !  Call  me  by  my  clouds !  Guide  me 
by  the  grey  that  dims  the  gold  !  My  hope  of 
future  mansions  is  my  house  unfinished  here  ; 
I  shall  learn  my  destiny  by  the  unsatisfiednesa 
of  my  soul. 


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